


Song of the Siren

by NerdWhoWrites



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, OC, Pirates of the Caribbean References, james norrington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-01-23 06:17:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 66,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21315562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdWhoWrites/pseuds/NerdWhoWrites
Summary: James Norrington is shipped off to the Caribbean from England, expecting to work for the British Navy and his old friend Weatherby, the new governor of Port Royal. When he gets there, James finds himself tangled up in an adventure with a siren who’s trying to regain her voice. His involvement with her will lead him through dangerous waters, peaceful moments, encounters with pirates, and inner turmoil that will threaten both his relationship with her and the life he’s always known.
Relationships: James Norrington & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

In his time serving the crown, James Norrington’s wig had never stuck to his face. Now, it was sitting on his head in an unfashionably damp manner. His clothes clung to him as he tried to endure the stifling heat. The idea of taking this job had been thrilling. The actual job, as it seemed, was rather less than.

It had been many years since his good friend had been sent to Port Royal, Jamaica. Weatherby Swann would, hopefully, be delighted to see him. They had parted on good, if rather sad terms. His wife having passed away not long before, Weatherby had been more than happy to leave the memories haunting his home, taking his young daughter with him. James had received a posting in India to help the East India Trading Company. He hadn’t thought he’d get to see his old friend until the unchecked piracy in the Caribbean called his name.

He knew now that he shouldn’t have thought of the posting as a pleasant one. He was there to do a job, not to socialize or relax in the heat. England had been dreary in his weeks working its coastline. Not at all the type of place someone wanted to be. What better than to escape to the south, to turquoise waters on the equator?

His fantasies couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Yes, the waters were the most aqua he’d ever seen them, but his idea of the heat- he’d had none. It was more intense than even India, where one couldn’t quite catch a break from the oppressive sun. Here, the heat was a different sort of torture. It was wet; sweat and sea spray clung to his clothes, making him feel increasingly salty.

As islands came into sight, James abandoned his place on deck, preferring a spot out of the sun. The heat trailed him down the decks. He was tempted to run down to the bilges to try finding a cool spot, but he couldn’t imagine it was much cooler down there. Instead, he leaned against a beam, preferring to watch sailors pass as they changed their shift. He’d be needed on deck in moments, so his respite wouldn’t be long lasted.

Staring out into the open waters, he wondered if going for a swim would be such a bad idea. Already, the youngest of the crew were clinging to the nets attached to the bowsprit. There, they held the net, swaying under a sail, as the breakers rolled over them. What James would give to jump in with them.

The ship’s arrival was met with little fanfare, though James’ own appearance turned more than a few heads. He recognized a few people, not that they were worth recognizing. All of them were English, and they’d all traded their home island for a new one in search of power. The shipping trade was rich in Jamaica; everyone wanted a hand in it.

He’d hardly touched the cobblestones when Weatherby was by his side. _Governor _Weatherby, James reminded himself. The man had aged since their last meeting. So, it seemed, had his daughter. She stood not far off, a maid by her side. She was striking, but the Governor gave him little time to notice. They greeted each other with happy familiarity, shaking hands. Weatherby was obviously pleased to see James. A smile lit up his features.

After they exchanged their greeting, James moved to Elizabeth. She had grown much since he’d seen her last. Even the descriptions Weatherby had written in his letters failed to match the woman that stood before him. He remembered a freckled girl, mischievous and a little clumsy, with bony knees and elbows. He couldn’t have seen her since she was twelve, and here she stood, five years later, all grown.

She remembered him, of course. He’d often been at her house for dinner parties, though more often he would meet Weatherby in the city. Over the years, he’d sent Elizabeth little things from across the globe. He never forgot the look in her young eyes when he presented them to her, and absentmindedly wondered if she’d given the same look to the things he’d sent her. He could only hope she was just as full of life as she’d been back then.

His thoughts tumbled together; he hardly paid attention to the conversation he was having with the Governor as they walked up the street to a carriage. Even then, he forgot most of what had just been said as he clambered inside. He preferred to watch the scenery roll by the open window.

They arrived at the Governor’s house. It was a splendid, sprawling estate with little spared decorum. It felt like a palace to James, who had lived in a ship for the past few years. He had forgotten what it was to have money.

The gardens were breathtaking. James hadn’t seen such an array of bright plants in his life. Red flowers fanned outwards, yellow petals shot out from bright green bushes, and little fountains of clear water burbled as he passed. It was nothing short of royal. His awe didn’t leave him when his stepped in the house, nor when he saw the view from the balcony. It was all to breathtaking, all too bright.

Too bright, he decided, was the problem with Jamaica. Where England was all muted tones, the Caribbean was a circus. Obnoxious colors sprung from every conceivable place, and though it was stunning, it was also overwhelming. The sickly sweat smell of flowers permeated the boiling air. Accompanied by the cacophony of cicadas and ceaseless chirping of birds, the place took all five senses to experience. It sapped the little energy James had straight from his bones.

He found himself at a table, the lace cloth a daffodil color that could only be described as annoying. He didn’t like the color yellow much at all, not that anyone would know, for nobody had cared to ask. The exception was Elizabeth, who, at eleven, had asked what his least favorite color was. He glanced at her from where he sat, entertaining her father. She looked him dead in the eye, which was admittedly unnerving. She traced a single, slender finger over the tablecloth. Of course she remembered.

He was more than thankful when he was escorted to his own house. The Governor had taken it upon himself to have the house ready to live in as soon as James set foot in town. For that, James was grateful. He hated the thought of having to invade their personal space so he might have a place to stay. Besides, he couldn’t look at that tablecloth on a daily basis.

When Weatherby left, James slumped into a chair. The air was no cooler inside than out. He acutely felt the dripping of sweat between his shoulder blades. He threw his coat on the bead he found in a dark room, and kicked off his shoes to match.

He stalked over to the study he had been provided. It was, like the rest of the island, a bright room. Sunlight filtered into the space from large windows to one side. The other two walls were composed mainly of bookshelves. On them sat books of varying topics, but James doubted he had the energy to read. Bobbles had been set in the shelves as decorations; carvings of ships and miniature paintings of sunsets over the sea. The room had a nice, nautical air to it that he could appreciate.

The desk was a rich mahogany. On it sat charts of the ocean and trade routes. It had lockable drawers and roses carved into the wood. Weatherby had spared no expense, which made James uncomfortable. To have someone think so highly of him that they paid for items of exceedingly good quality was an honor. He didn’t quite think he deserved it, nor did he like to think of the image he’d have to fit in order to meet Weatherby’s expectations. The man’s memories of him, he figured, were a little skewed by time. He hadn’t done anything to receive such hospitality from the Governor.

James inspected his new home, peeking into every room. There was a waiting room, a kitchen, dining room, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms. There were more than that, for there was also the study and the room containing the pianoforte. The house had a blue theme to it, as if James needed to be reminded of his duties while away from the job. The rooms were various shades of blue, while the furniture pieces were all in complimentary colors. The house had no stairs, but there were many places where the floor creaked. James felt like a child sneaking past his parents’ room at night.

After his quick sweep of the house, the thought of jumping into the cool waters was too great a temptation. He couldn’t bear the heat any longer. Stripping off his shirt and socks, he made his way to the French doors at the back of the house. Behind the house was a bleached deck with stairs leading down to the beach. The expanse of sand wasn’t very large, but it was scorching when he stepped into it. He moved as quickly as he could without running to reach the tide.

Though he was mostly secluded from neighbors, they could spot him if they looked around the trees separating his house from theirs. His home had a neighbor on only one side, their house blocked from view by a line of tropical trees. He could only make out their roof, but nothing beyond that. If he swam too far out, they’d definitely see him, though he decided it didn’t matter much if his body was submerged. The only real embarrassment would come if they caught him on the beach.

The water was refreshing. At this point, James didn’t care how cold the Atlantic was, it was just nice to feel something other than the heat. With his lower body submerged, he glided out into the water. He hadn’t been given the chance to swim since India, and he refrained from it then. A captain shouldn’t swim in front of his men. That being said, the ability to swim in peace was glorious.

He briefly considered that he hadn’t brought a towel out with him; he’d get the floors wet. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he swam to a rock protruding from the ocean. He basked in the exercise. Being a captain meant that he had little to do in the way of physical labor. He missed using his body the way he once had.

Something beneath the surface of the water caught his eye. It was a ways away, flitting through the ocean like a fish. He thought that was it was, at first, before deciding that it was too large. For a moment, he was deathly afraid that a shark plagued the waters, but dismissed that notion when he saw a fin cut through the waves. It was scaled and shimmering, nothing like a shark’s smooth skin. It turned away from him, heading out into open water.

James watched it glide to rocks farther out in the ocean. He could only see its shadow moving under the waves. The tide was coming in, gently trying to push him off his rock and back towards shore. He climbed out of the water and positioned himself on the stone so that his legs might dangle into the sea.

The cove he swam in was small. It was protected on one side by a rocky barrier. On the other side, where James was, there was evidence of what might have been the other side to the barrier. Rocks jutted out from the water, but they were blocky and flat; the perfect perch. Trees grew on both sides where the land started to reach its fingers out to the sea. At the far end of the cove was James’ house, while his neighbor was at the other. The area had been deforested to build the homes, a strip left to separate the properties.

James could feel the time passing. He guessed it had been an hour since he’d come outside, and decided it was time to swim back to shore. He drifted, reluctant to leave the water. The sun was dipping to the horizon, but the air was as muggy as ever. He didn’t know if he’d dry out, or if the water would cling to his skin. His trousers, surely, wouldn’t dry out before morning.

He was on his deck before looking back out to sea. Though the light was waning, he could make out a figure near the rocks farthest from land. First, it was only the tail of a large fish that could be seen. Then, it flipped to lift its head out of the water.

James’ breath caught. He was well aware of the strange things one could find in the sea, mainly the creatures of lore. Old captains had their own tales on what they’d seen in their time at sea. James had thought of them all as fictitious. Now, there was no denying what was swimming right behind his house.

_A siren!_

He stood on the deck and stared, unable to rip his eyes away. She slid onto one of the rocks, all grace, and stretched out. His internal description of her might have been more romantic if he could see more details, but he couldn’t elaborate on the color of her eyes or the way her hair fell down her back. He could hardly tell what color her scales were, but he assumed they were a combination of every shade of blue.

Instead, he just gaped. She must have noticed, because she was gone as quickly as she’d come, sliding back into the waters. It was a long while before James could force himself to move, but back inside he went. He bathed, washing the fishy smell from his skin, and ate what he could make for dinner, which was to say not much. His first order of business would be to hire a maid and a cook.

He slipped under the covers, absolutely exhausted. He’d almost forgotten about the siren, his mind occupied by all he had yet to do. Mostly, he was thinking about work and all the responsibilities that came with. He’d be given a ship and crew the following morning. Then, it would be back to work, and under the Caribbean sun. Back to the usual routine. At least he was out from under the command of the EITC, whom he couldn’t stand. Most of the merchants and captains were insufferable, not to mention Lord Beckett.

When he awoke, early the next morning, he sat down at the table for what meager food he could scrounge up. Thankfully, Governor Swann had thought of that already. He tapped his foot, anxious for what the day would bring. It was only when he went to stand that he noticed the color of the table cloth.

Daffodil yellow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James meets his coworkers and has a face-to-fin encounter.

The fort was abuzz with activity. James arrived early in the morning to find men scurrying around the ramparts and conversing in conspiring tones. Half of them didn’t pay him a second glance, but those that did seemed to recognize him. And why not? He’d made a name for himself in India, protecting British merchants from savagery; mostly ships belonging to the East India Trading Company.

He reported to what he guessed was the main office. Naval bases were set up quite the same throughout the world. There, he found a rather portly man pouring over a map of the surrounding area. A cartographer worked nearby, religiously copying down what was set before him. Multiple officers stood in the room, all talking to each other. The place didn’t have nearly the discipline India had.

The man stooped over the desk, which was rather messy, glanced up to think. He noticed Norrington standing in the doorway and beckoned him over.

“You must be the newest edition to our ranks, Captain. I’m Admiral Hughes. Welcome to Port Royal.”

The Admiral wiped his hand on his jacket before extending it. James shook it, acutely aware that sweat still covered the man’s pudgy fingers. The temperature was no less excruciating than the day before.

“I look forward to serving you, sir,” James replied.

“In that case, I’ll have someone show you around.” The Admiral bellowed for a man named Groves, who came jogging into the room, a concerned look on his face.

“Yes, sir?”

“See that this man, Captain...” here he fumbled to recall James’ name, “Norrington, is shown the rest of the base.”

“Yes, sir.”

James discerned that Groves was younger than he was, but probably not by much. To his annoyance, the man was taller than he was. The Lieutenant- as James could see from his coat- still retained the gangling limbs that came with boyhood, but a square jaw with stubble that spoke otherwise.

Lieutenant Groves showed James the remainder of the base, of which there was a lot. For one, the base covered a good chunk of one side of the harbor. For another, it was multiple stories high, with some being underground. Despite its size, it was like many back in Britain.

There was the rampart protecting the fort from attack, though attack was unlikely. There was a mess hall, which was a large, lofty room in which the officers ate. Then there was an armory. This particular fort had three. Many of them contained what was needed on ships, such as cannons, ammunition, and gunpowder. There were bathrooms and two kitchens, and there was a library filled to the brim with charts and books on any nautical thing a man could know.

They passed a set of stairs leading down, deep below the fort’s main halls. That, Groves told him, was the prison. They kept pirates there while the hanging was being awaited.

“I wouldn’t suggest that you go down there. It’s awfully musty and it gets hard to breathe. Some of the cells are underground, some are just above. Only venture down there when there’s a good reason to.”

With that, they passed the dark stairwell, moving on to the offices. Each was a tad small and cramped, but well furnished and serviceable. They were nothing like the one at home, with its windows and lofty ceiling. No, the base provided a room with a single, square-cut window. There was only one bookshelf, and his desk took up much of the room. There were already maps tacked to the walls. He opened a drawer of the desk to find some reports sitting inside.

Groves left him to do what he might, which was mostly to sit at his desk and fill out paperwork. It was tame and tedious compared to being at sea. He hadn’t signed up for the Royal Navy to write his name on countless papers. He hadn’t signed up for the Royal Navy at all; he’d had no choice in the matter of carrying on what his father had started.

Refusing to think of such things, he walked back to the library. The maps hanging from the walls were of the highest quality, as were the portraits of officers. Their cold eyes stared down at him. Ignoring them, he gazed at the maps, done in ink and framed in glass. Each one was a work of art. The water nearly moved, and the framing along the edges told of sea monsters from each corner of the globe. They were crafted with much care. James thought back to the cartographer he’d noticed earlier, wondering if the young man had made all the works on the walls.

Some time passed before he walked back to his office. On the way, he again observed the way everyone was talking. The energy of the fort made his teeth buzz. Obviously, there was something happening of which he didn’t know.

Groves walked by him, chatting with a boy whose face hadn’t yet lost its softness. James cleared his throat, politely trying to get Groves’ attention. The Lieutenant turned mid sentence.

“Pardon,” James began, “but is the fort always so lively?”

Groves exchanged a look with his companion. “No,” he said slowly, “because the activity is due to our latest prisoner. You’ll never guess.”

James raised his eyebrows as the pale boy next to Groves spoke. “We pulled it from the depths, all writhing and shrieking. I’m sure some of the sailors can tell you a thing or two about what happened. It came up screeching. They say its tears can cure all wounds, and its voice can wake the dead.”

The man was much too close for comfort. James inadvertently took a step back, trying to get out of range of the boy’s breath, which stank of fish.

“What Gillette means to say,” Groves sighed, “is that we captured a siren.”

The air left James’ lungs. Groves pulled his companion back with a light tug on the arm, but James was too shocked to be thankful. It didn’t seem right, nor did it seem plausible, that they’d caught a siren. Such creatures didn’t exist.

“Some sailors found it this morning. They brought it in a fishing net. Poor creature was curled up crying.” He shifted his weight. “Gillette embellished the story. They say the fishwife didn’t make a sound. Not when they pulled her out of the sea, not when they shoved her behind bars. At least they gave her a water tank.”

With that, the duo continued on their stroll, leaving James to ponder their words. Tales came to mind, stories fabricated by captains long retired. Many men claimed to have seen sirens, but James hadn’t believed in them. Nor did he now. Just how many soldiers had seen the thing being kept below? Few, he guessed.

The rest of his paperwork was finished quickly. He was absorbed in his thoughts, many of which the siren was the subject. Surely, he told himself, the rumor wasn’t true. Still, it invaded his mind, probing at the edges of his consciousness until he gave in to thinking about it. He watched the hands of the clock tick by.

He went down into the mess hall for lunch. Most of the others were already there and seated at long benches. Like a transferred schoolboy, James wasn’t sure where to sit. He only knew Groves, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to sit next to the Lieutenant. He decided to get his food before finding a place to sit.

The actual food was fairly decent. The meats were topped with spices James hadn’t seen before, and fresh fruit was a major part of the meal. He was glad for fresh food after being at sea since England. The cook pushed plates onto a tray for him, pointing him in the direction of utensils.

That done, he found himself back in the hall. To one side was a rambunctious table. There was an assortment of junior and senior officers, all in good humor. James wasn’t exactly the boisterous type, so he figured it wasn’t the best place for him. There was a round table comprised of Lieutenants and midshipmen. At another sat older gentlemen. James doubted they would accept him.

He pulled out a chair at a table in the back corner of the room. He thought he was alone until he saw the slumped man in front of him. It was the cartographer. His clothes matched the brown of the table. A map was laid on the table, and the man continued it with precision. He leaned sideways to his plate to eat a few bites before returning to his work.

James decided it was best not to distract him. They ate in silence. James wondered if the man even saw him sit down. Finally, the mapmaker pushed his work aside to focus on his meal. That’s when he noticed James, who nodded stiffly.

The cartographer mumbled something unintelligible before shoveling food into his mouth. James watched with slight disgust when the man used the back of his arm to wipe away food from the corners of his mouth. He looked up, and James was met with startlingly green eyes staring into his own.

“Sorry,” the man mumbled. “I know I’m a mess, and that you’ve been sitting here this whole time while I ignored you.”

He almost sounded like a mouse what with his squeaking. “It’s quite alright,” said James.

“My name’s Benjamin, but you can call me Ben.” Ben slid his impressively round spectacles farther up his nose, leaving an ink stain on his face where his finger had been. “Or you can call me Inky, which is the nickname most of the men use for me. It’s half in good humor, but also half derogatory.”

James stared at Ben’s nervous expression combined with the dot of ink on his forehead. Inky was indeed a good name, but James didn’t dare use it. He wasn’t one to use nicknames, especially those that were offensive.

“I’m Captain Norrington. It’s good to meet you, Benjamin.”

“And you.”

They glanced at each other awkwardly before returning to their meals. A few minutes of dead silence followed as they finished what was on their trays.

James coughed into his hand. He was unsure of where to direct his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t stare at Ben, but the boy was so different from anyone James had met. He was almost feminine, with a much thinner body than the other men in the room. Even the youngest boy present had more meat on him than the twig of a man across the table.

“Did you draw all the maps in the library?” He asked, eyes on his empty plate.

“Not all. This fort has been around longer than I have. You can see that many of them aren’t in my style; they use different ink. I like to do mine in blue, as I think you can tell.” Ben gestured to the paper next to him. “But the ones on the walls near the front of the room are.”

“They’re wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

Leaving the table was awkward, but nearly as much as it would have been to stay. James returned his tray to the cook, who handed it off to a dishwasher. Then, he proceeded back to his office.

Half way there, he hesitated. Next to him were the stairs leading down to the prisons. James looked about; nobody was watching. He slipped through a pair of doors and down the cold stones to the heart of the fort.

Groves had been right. It stank. Through the gloom, James could see the rows of cells lined up side by side. He had expected a guard, but assumed they were still in the lunch room. He stubbed his toe on something lying on the ground. Suppressing an expletive, he trudged on.

When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the tank. It sat in the middle of a cell. It was murky and unclean, and very large. It stood maybe half as high as James was tall. In it, something was moving. Its shadow could be seen in the yellow liquid, and water splashed over the sides of the tank. It was open to the air, the lid propped up against the side of the cell.

He moved cautiously closer. Whatever was in the tank wasn’t human, and the tank certainly wasn’t empty.

James had never let his curiosity get the better of him. In India, he hadn’t bothered investigating any strange happenings when the men claimed a goddess had caused them. He hadn’t looked into the murder of Pastor Hall back in England. He hand’t participated in paranormal gossip concerning the abandoned house in Cornwall that grew a bit too infamous. He hadn’t batted an eye at the secretive doings of the EITC. He prided himself on resisting the temptation.

But the keys across from the cell jangled on their hooks with the pitch and roll of the ship, calling his name. With deft fingers, he took them and swiftly unlocked the cell, lest he hesitate while moving slowly. With the door open, he stepped inside. The tank lay before him, the water sloshing about at his feet. Something floated on its surface.

_Hair._

He forgot how to breathe. He tried to reason with himself, but surely, there was hair in that tank. Before his nerve failed him, he stepped closer. He had intended to reach in, but whatever was in the tank came out first. He stumbled backwards before finding his feet.

She was breathtaking. Well, perhaps she might have been, if she wasn’t locked in a dark cell inside a tank of dirty water. Her hair hung, stringy, clinging to her wet body. She wore someone’s shirt, probably to preserve her decency. She was considerably smaller than James, but she had the presence of something rather dangerous.

He stared into her eyes for an intense moment before composing himself. It was all he could do to keep himself from spluttering, but he couldn’t afford to act foolishly in front of such a creature.

“I beg your pardon.” He stood under her scrutinizing gaze.

She remained silent, and James took the time to observe her further. She was rather plain looking, he decided, with brown hair and brown eyes. Brown scales, too, he noticed, though it could’ve been due to the light and amount of grime in the tank. They peeked out from under the dripping shirt. She then gestured to herself as if to say, _‘And?’_

A moment passed where James knew he should leave, but couldn’t quite do so. Moments were dangerous periods, for in that moment, the siren made up her mind.

She leapt out of the tank on very human like legs, pushing James onto the floor. He thought she might rip his heart out, or at very least his windpipe, with sharp fangs. He rolled sideways to avoid such an incident.

He remembered nothing after that, her bony elbow crashing into his skull.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James learns some things about Ben and the siren.

When James awoke, he found himself alone. Thankfully, he’d fallen outside of the prison doors, so he wasn’t locked in the cell. Instead, he found himself lying on the muddy floor, cheek pressed against the cool stone.

He stood and brushed himself off, reeling from the blow to his head. He found a lump there. It was covered by his wig, which was, as far as he could tell, the only useful thing it had ever done and would ever do. Nobody had come down to arrest him for his deeds, nor had anyone come to help him. He guessed that no one knew where he was: a true blessing.

He tried to make himself presentable again. He crept out into the hall and up the stairs. There was a great commotion going on outside the door. He wasn’t sure it was a good time to slip out, but at the same time, the distraction could give him the cover he needed. Taking the risk, he pushed the doors open a crack. Nobody noticed as he rejoined the crowd.

A tide of officers was surging towards something. What it was, James didn’t know. It occurred to him that it had only been a few minutes since his encounter with the siren. Men filed out of the mess hall in large groups, and the sun hadn’t changed its position in the sky. James joined the crowd, letting himself be pulled along.

He came to a rampart, men pressed up against the wall, looking out over the sea. James found a spot from which he could see what everyone was looking at. Concentric circles spiraled out from a point in the salt water below, as if a great object had fallen into it. There, breeching the surface a little ways off, was a head. The siren had jumped, nearly to her death, over the ramparts and into the ocean below.

James could hardly believe it, but he supposed it was how things ought to be. Firstly, a siren shouldn’t be held in captivity. The whole business seemed bad. Second, she’d jumped back into the water where she belonged, so perhaps the action was less insane than James had originally thought.

The head disappeared beneath the waves and did not resurface again. The water stopped rippling out from the shock of her jump, and the sun slipped slowly down the horizon. For a great long time, nobody moved.

Admiral Hughes was not amused by the congregation. He came bustling out of his office, only made more difficult by his weight, to yell at the gathered crowd.

“What do you think you’re doing? It’s like you’ve all seen a ghost. Someone better have a damned good explanation for what’s happening.”

Nobody moved until a man spoke up. It was the boy who had been with Groves earlier. “I’ve got one, sir. We all just saw a half naked girl streak across the fort and jump off the ramparts into the sea below. Now, I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I do believe you’ve lost custody of your siren.”

The gathered were silent. All eyes fell on the throbbing vein in the Admiral’s forehead. His nose twitched; a great movement indeed, for it wobbled his impressively large chin, or lack thereof. He spun on his heel and strode off without another word.

The officers visibly relaxed, returning to their previous business. James decided the safest corse of action was to return to his office. He did so and mulled things over in the lumpy chair provided for him. When he was allowed to leave, he did so, and not a moment later. Home was a welcome sight. It had been, to say the least, a trying day.

He didn’t know whether to feel guilty or relieved. Keeping a girl locked in a tank of water seemed a dreadful sin, but letting her go would be considered one by Hughes, and it was Hughes who decided James’ fate. Should he be caught, he could lose his position- his head if Hughes really wanted it.

His fears were unfounded. The incident was blamed on witchcraft, of which the siren was deeply guilty. James didn’t speak of the matter with anyone. He went about his business, filling out paperwork and training junior officers. He continued to sit with the cartographer during lunch, though they seldom spoke.

There came a point when he was assigned a ship and crew. In his crew were Groves and his friend, who seemed to cause more trouble than good. That being said, they were a useful pair that knew the ins and outs of sailing. They were admirably good swordsmen, too.

The ship was beautiful, outfitted with some of the finest equipment James had seen. It was an eighteen gun brig, painted beautifully and carved out of fine, pale wood. James ran his hand over the railing; he was instantly smitten. He had a love for ships, especially ones in his command.

The days grew increasingly dull. There was an anxious feeling in the back of James’ mind, never far from hand. He didn’t know why he was so restless, but he guessed it had to do with his quality of living. The Caribbean was nice, yes, but he couldn’t stand the social pleasantries. He attended a ball hosted by Governor Swann, and though he feigned interest, he couldn’t help slipping outside for a few minutes. The heat inside was too much, and coupled with the company, it was impossible to stand. The Port Royal folk were some of the least interesting people he’d ever encountered.

He needed to _do _something. His work had been nothing more than signing papers and teaching young men how to properly hold a sword. It was repetitive and trying, for the boys couldn’t seem to learn the simplest of things. It annoyed James to no end, which made him a bit irritable. He had expected to leave harbor, even if only for a shore patrol. Anything would be better than what he was currently stuck with.

This in mind, he slipped into the library for a reprieve. He assumed it was empty; the men had much more fun shooting at seagulls than reading books; but he found someone tucked in the back. Papers spilled over their table. Books lay open so their pictures were exposed, and ink sat in multiple wells. Ben sat at the table alone, his face so close to a book his nose nearly touched its pages.

James almost passed the boy by, intending to leave Ben at peace, but a certain picture caught his attention. The rendition was of a girl, her long hair sticking to her body, water suctioning her clothes to her skin. Her eyes were cutting, nothing like how a man would typically draw a woman. Men loved to romanticize large, round, doe-like eyes.

The picture was especially interesting because it was a perfect drawing of the siren. James absently ran his fingers over the edges of the picture. He picked it up to examine it more carefully.

“I didn’t know you were such a talented artist.” He didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, but that’s exactly what it was. Just how much time had Ben spent with the siren to draw such a lifelike portrait?

Ben looked up through long lashes. His green eyes always amazed James; they were unexpected even after having seen them a dozen or more times. The cartographer glanced at the picture in James’ hand and gulped.

“I know what you must think,” he said hoarsely. His voice was strained. “It’s nothing like that. I didn’t let her out, you know.”

“And what do you think of her escape?”

“I think it’s fortunate she found a way out. She didn’t deserve to be locked down there.”

“I must say that I agree.” James paused, looking deep into the man’s eyes, searching for any sign of guilt. “I’m not going to report you for something you didn’t do,” he sighed. “I wouldn’t report you even if you had. Hughes doesn’t seem like the forgiving type.” His shoulders visibly relaxed.

Ben relaxed, too. “Thank you. I didn’t take you for that kind of man.” He offered James a chair, which he accepted.

“How long did you have to spend with her to get such an accurate picture?”

“Ten minutes. I didn’t draw it all then, but she was memorable, she was. I snuck down there, actually,” he confessed.

“Did you talk much?”

“Not at all. She can’t talk.”

“Oh?”

“It has something to do with a pirate stealing her voice. I have a brief account of it. She wrote it out for me.” He furrowed his brow. “Poor girl. I hope she gets it back.” He turned to James. “A siren without her voice is just plain wrong. Why take it from her?”

James shrugged, but he mulled over Ben’s words. _A mute siren! Amazing! _That explained why she’d said nothing to him.

“What did the two of you do down there?” He asked.

“Talked in our own way, mostly. She wrote things down, and I spoke. It wasn’t the quickest method of communication, but it served.”

“Were you allowed to be down there?”

“I was’t stopped. But,” he said sheepishly, “I don’t think anyone knew I was down there anyway.”

“Why tell me all this? I know I asked, but why admit to it?”

The man blushed, a red hue taking up his cheeks and much of his neck. “You’re the only one who talks to me, Captain. I had hoped, perhaps, that in you I’d found a friend?” It was a question, not a statement.

James could see how desperately the boy wanted his affirmation. “Yes,” he said. “A friend you have.” He pitied Ben. How lonely the cartographer’s life must be.

Time passed with little circumstance. James and Ben often met in the library after that. Ben was much more animated and talkative than he had been. And, James had to admit, he was less tedious than the other company James could’ve had. Ben was a nice sort of man, and he was a fantastically engaging conversationalist. He had many things to say that were interesting.

James frequently swam in the ocean behind his house. The water was welcome, a refreshing respite from the heat. He swam out to his rock and beyond. Once, he had been quite a good swimmer. Perhaps with some practice, he could be just that good again.

It was during one of this evening excursions that he noticed, again, a tail flitting beneath the waves. It was farther out than it had been, but he was more curious now as to what it was. It could be a large fish, the type that nearly pull sailors out of fishing boats. Or, a more fanciful part of his mind decided, it could be the siren.

Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he swam out to meet it. It became progressively farther away, swimming in the opposite direction. James swam idly from rock to rock, pretending not to notice the scales rippling below the waves. The tail flashed out of sight as he neared it, whipping behind some rock or deeper below. The only reason he could see the tail was due to the light catching it as it passed through the water.

As he rested on a rock, trying not to draw attention to himself, water splashed over his head from above. He looked up, putting a hand over his face to shield his eyes from the setting sun. There, above him, on the other side of the rock, was the siren.

James nearly drowned from shock. Sure, he’d had his suspicions, but he hadn’t thought he’d catch her, nor that she’d show herself outright. Her hair hung away from her head as gravity pulled it down. She was braced against the back of the rock, leaning over the front to look at him. Her lips were pulled into a tight frown. He saw, with no little embarrassment, that she was wearing nothing.

She looked him hard in the eye and shook her head. Then, she dropped down from her perch to come around the rock and face him. Her arms were crossed, as if she was the angry wife of a drunk barkeep. Thankfully, they covered her chest, so James could meet her eyes without feeling like he was seeing more than he should.

“Hello,” he said shakily. “I suppose you were here the other night, then.” He thought back to the night before her capture.”

She nodded once.

“What’s your name?”

She raised her eyebrows. He remembered her muteness and kicked himself for asking. He would only be able to ask yes-no questions.

“Are you angry with me?” He asked. She certainly looked to be.

She shook her head side to side, signifying that she wasn’t.

“Would you like me to let you alone?”

A yes that time. James figured as much. He suddenly felt badly for pursuing her. Perhaps he should’ve let her at peace.

“Do you live here?”

Yes.

“Can I help you?”

She paused, mulled it over. ‘Maybe’, she mouthed.

“How?” It was out of his mouth before he could think to phrase it differently. Of course she couldn’t answer.

To his surprise, she swam in towards the shore. They got there together, her with lazy flicks of her tail, and him with long strokes of his appendages. There, they got out of the water, and James hastily turned away. He lent her his towel, having on trousers himself, handing it to her without looking. Once she was covered, they went inside, tracking sand in with them.

He had her sit at his desk. There, he laid out paper and a quill. She deftly began writing. Her movements were so fluid, it was like she was made of water herself. When she was done, the scrap of parchment was covered in her scrawling penmanship. He glanced it over.

‘_I have, obviously, lost my voice,’_ it read. ‘_Perhaps you could help me to get it back. There is a pirate who keeps it with him. If I could get to him, I could get my voice back. I hope I’m not wrong about asking you.’_

All of a sudden, the situation seemed ridiculous. At seven in the evening, there sat a siren at his desk, asking him for help. It all felt unreal. James almost laughed. What was he to tell his dear mother in their letters? _You might not be able to reach me for awhile. I’m helping a siren recover her voice from a wicked pirate. _The experience was absurd.

“I suppose that if I ran into this pirate on my expeditions, I could recover your voice for you. I don’t think I could help you beyond that.”

She took back the paper. _‘I don’t want that. I want you to help me hunt him directly.’_

“Hunt him directly? I can’t do that. I’d never get the permission.”

_‘We’d steal a ship.’_

“I would never!” James gaped. How could she expect him to betray his country? “You’ve asked the wrong person. I’m sorry.”

She stood and sauntered out the door, hardly stopping to shed her towel when she slipped back under the waves. The paper was still there, on his desk, proof of her existence. If it hadn’t been there, James might’ve fancied the whole thing a dream.

It was a damning thing, to have an unhappy siren living outside his house. It was a damning thing, too, to steal a ship from the British Navy. Too damning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get to see the more mundane aspects of James' life, and how he realizes that life in the Caribbean isn't quite as exciting as it's made out to be. Also, he fights pirates.  
Alright, so I over described cannons. There's a link to reference pictures with labels at the end. (Because these are my own pics, I can't upload them. Also, ao3 won't let me put a link in the notes rn. Sorry. )

Life was boring, to say the least. Without the mystery of the siren, James found things a bit of a bore. There were too many social functions and too much paperwork. He was invited to garden parties that featured tropical decorations and food. They didn’t, however, feature people of much interest. There was gossip he didn’t care for, men with egotistical issues, and women whom he didn’t find half as pretty as they found themselves. He often hid behind hedgerows.

It was during one such occasion that Elizabeth caught him. She, looking over her shoulder, ran right into him. She had obviously been checking to see who would notice her disappearance. She didn’t figure they’d be right in front her.

James grabbed her by the shoulders. “Miss Swann.”

“Captain.” She bobbed her head. “What are you doing back here? I realized a few minutes ago that I hadn’t seen you in twenty.”

He cursed under his breath, earning a look from Elizabeth. “My apologies. I hadn’t realized how long it had been.”

“You never did answer my question.”

James sighed. “What are you doing back here?”

“Now you’re just blatantly avoiding it. But, if you must know, I’m hiding from a certain Lieutenant. He just insists on flirting with me, but he’s not very impressive.”

“Ah. Then I’ll have you know that I’m hiding from everyone here. I’m sorry to admit, but I’m not fond of social functions.”

“I think the thought of them is much more fun than the actual experience.”

“You put it beautifully.”

James was genuinely surprised at how open Elizabeth was with him. Observing her, she was quite the demure young woman, but perhaps things were different between them. He had, after all, known her since she was quite young. Perhaps she was more familiar with him because he was a familiar presence. He wondered, quite suddenly, if she’d missed him.

As a child, she’d been curious about him. Even when James’ father had introduced him to the Governor, she had been there. She had been seven at the time; James was fourteen. His presence may have seemed a little foreign, and probably rather interesting. It was rare for her to interact with men at her young age, but she had been permitted to meet James. They had talked little, but James was well aware of the times when she’d listened in on his conversations with her father, or when she watched him practice fencing.

Maybe those memories were fond, or maybe she’d forgotten them altogether, but James hadn’t forgotten a bit. Sure, he’d found her annoying at times, especially as a child, but she was endearing, too. Or she had been, to the adults. James had found her a slightly mysterious presence, probably because they had talked very seldom and he knew next to nothing about her.

Here, in the Port Royal sun, her skin had changed from the deathly pale she’d been in England. She was tan, and freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. It was all beautiful, but James wondered more about her person than her looks. He regretted knowing so little about her life. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two, and even be called a friend.

They stood rather awkwardly together, not talking. “How have things been here?” He asked in an attempt to break the silence.

“When? When I first arrived, they were charming. As I got older, things became dull. Scenery can only add so much to a sheltered life, Captain Norrington.”

James raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m sorry to hear.”

“Currently, I think you’re suffering the same affliction.”

“Yes, but I never found things charming. You wouldn’t believe how hot these uniforms can get.”

“You underestimate my dress.”

He could give her that much. The dresses young women wore were ridiculous. No amount of fabric piled onto their bodies could make up for the areas in which they were lacking. Not to mention, it had to be hard to get through doors, or even to sit down.

“Oh dear. I do believe my friend needs to be rescued from that young man over there. Will I find you hiding at the next event of the season?”

“I believe you will.”

With that, she left their hiding spot and went to the aid of her friend.

The party over, James headed back to the fort. He’d been visible for the majority of the time, though he always managed to slip out of reach when someone wanted to speak with him. The exception was the Governor, who intercepted him on a few occasions. This led to other people talking to him, an unfortunate turn of events.

A single leaf of paper sat on his desk, waiting to be signed. He picked it up, reading the cramped handwriting. It was an order for him to go to sea, and thank God. He was immeasurably tired of sitting on land, doing nothing. He and his crew were to be deployed in two days for a voyage around a couple of neighboring islands. A merchant had recently been attacked by pirates in those waters, and James eagerly awaited being able to do something other than mulling around.

He had done the very same thing a hundred times. He was constantly being used a pirate hunter by the Navy and EITC. Both found him extremely effective. Even when he had first been promoted to Captain, he had employed a number of strategies that had saved his neck in a few tight spots. Despite his age, he managed expertly in battle. His crews typically lost the least men.

Some people actually claimed that he’d sold his soul to the devil, but his true reason for excellence was much simpler. He’d sold his soul to his father. He’d only ever wanted to please the successful military man, and hadn’t had the slightest choice but to join the Navy. His name helped him advance quickly through the ranks, but more than that, his knowledge lifted him a head above the other men. He had a lifetime of knowledge before he had a day of experience. His father had told him everything, and the old Admiral had been outstanding at his job. Too much so, James thought. He never quite could live up to the man.

The departure was well anticipated. The ship took off, sailing smoothly away from harbor. The men were ecstatic. For many of them, it was their first voyage. Deckhands who hadn’t worked a day in their lives were already dreaming of battles and giant storms. Anything they could use to prove themselves.

James remembered that phase. Enraptured wit the world around you, romanticizing your every move. They would learn soon enough. Though they spoke of pirates, they didn’t want to meet them. Not that they would know that until it was too late.

The pitch and roll of the ship made James feel right at home. In India, he had rarely been off his ship at all. The Indian Ocean was full of outlaws looking for ways to stir up trouble. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the lull of the waves before he had to get to work. His men needed orders, and there was none but him to give them.

He did not miss the backbreaking work of scrubbing the decks or being a midshipman. No, and he hadn’t enjoyed climbing the rigging. No ship-hand could have a fear of heights, nor of the sea, nor of death or pain. Working as a sailor was hell, but so were many other things, and perhaps being a common sailor wasn’t so bad after all.

James was no longer a common sailor. As captain, he could order his men to do as he pleases as long as he kept them in one piece and brought prisoners home for a quick, biased trial. Most of the time, there was no trial at all.

The waters were smooth and turquoise, nothing like the black, choppy waters surrounding the British Isles. Colorful fish inhabited the warm waters. James had seen some being sold in markets, but he’d never eaten one. Many of them were too small to pass as a meal.

The very air was damp. The muggy weather was still bothersome, but much less so at sea. Things cooled down a bit over the water, but already, young boys had hopped into the netting below the flying jib. The air had changed from smelling sweet to smelling like salt. It was refreshing.

Many of the younger crew members hadn’t been in fights before. That being such, James instructed the crew to fire off rounds of cannonballs into the ocean below. He needed to see how quickly they could do it, or if they could even do it at all. He had some midshipmen demonstrate how it was to be done.

Operating a cannon was much more complicated than one would think. Firstly, the cannon was made of three parts; the _tube_, the _carriage_, and the _chassis_. The tube was where the ammunition and gunpowder were held. The carriage held up the tube, supporting it so that it could be fired. It also controlled the recoil of the cannon. The entire mechanism rested on the chassis. The chassis allowed the cannon to be aimed in any direction.

The process began with making sure the cannon was _out of battery_, meaning that everything was resting on the back part of the chassis. Then, someone cleaned the inside of the tube with a _sponge,_ a long wooden pole with a cloth covered end. The sponge was dipped in water and rammed about inside the tube to clean it. Soon after, someone placed the _cartridge _in the tube and pushed it to the back with a _rammer. _The _cartridge _contained the gunpowder, while the _rammer _was a wooden rod meant to push the cartridge in.

The cannonball was loaded, and someone inserted the _priming wire _into the _vent._ The _priming wire _was meant to puncture the _cartridge, _while the _vent _was a hole at the top of the tube through which the _priming wire _was shoved. The cannon was rammed forward to the front of the _chassis, _set _in battery. _The _friction primer _was put where the _priming wire _had previously been. The _friction primer _consisted of a tube filled with gunpowder and a wire key attached to a sparking compound. A lanyard was tied to the key to pull it from where it sat.

The lanyard was pulled on command, and the key was ripped from its place in the _friction primer, _igniting the gunpowder below it. The ball shot out of the _tube, _and the cannon rolled back on the _chassis _into the _out of battery _position. Then, it was all done again.

James insured that the new members of the crew were taught how to carry out the operation. Then, they were put to the test. As the days wore on, they were able to do it faster than before. Speed was key in firing cannons. The more rounds a team could get off, the more damage they could do to their opponent.

The newbies learned to sword fight, too. The older officers taught them when they were off their watch, or rotation of work. James supervised the lot, making sure the younger men could fire a gun and aim. The youngsters were put through hard work. They had to learn all the knots and how to manage the sails, how to climb the rigging and how to make sure their bread had no maggots. It was rough, a boy’s first time on a ship. Many of them puked within the first day.

A few days into the journey, a ship was spotted on the horizon. As they grew nearer, they saw that it flew no colors. James automatically changed course to engage. It would be the first true test of his crew. So far, they’d proved themselves well behaved and admirably effective.

Cannons belowdecks were manned, as were those above. The cannons below were loaded with cannonballs, while those on deck were loaded with grapeshot. Hopefully, the grapeshot would take out enough of their men for a safe boarding.

The other ship had acknowledged the Naval ship earlier in the morning. Their course had changed. It seemed that they, too, were intent on a fight. As they came in range of each other, the first rounds were fired. A few fell short, but many hit their mark. They tore through the hull of the pirate ship, leaving holes where they landed. James was pleased, but he knew the feeling wouldn’t last long. The shot was returned, and metal tore through the upper decks. James grimaced. The fight was sure to be ugly. The other ship had thirty two guns, from what James could tell. The_ Interceptor, _James’ vessel, had sixteen. Though they had fewer guns, they had more maneuverability.

A sudden sense of foreboding fell over James. He had fewer guns and fewer men than his enemy, not to mention quite a few inexperienced fighters. He hated seeing green sailors bleeding out on deck. Young men were supposed to have a life ahead of them.

He sucked in a breath. There was nothing for it, he was fully engaged. The second round of shots were fired. A cannonball whizzed past his right ear. It was a few feet away, but he could still feel the movement of the air around it. It hit nothing, instead flying past into the ocean beyond. His ship now sported holes in many places. So did the other. James gave the order to load a chain shot, intent on seeing damage done to the mast of the opposing ship.

It ripped through the air, and James’ eyes followed it until it had successfully hit the other ship. The mizzenmast collapsed, dragging through the water. James watched the frenzy in which the crew cut it away and shoved it off the ship. A mast trailing through the water was a danger to everyone on board. James took advantage of the distraction to pull up alongside his enemy and let a round of grapeshot fly across their deck. Men fell everywhere, especially those chopping at the mast.

With those men dead, others had to replace them. To James’ satisfaction, teams of cannon gunners poured out on deck. The _Interceptor _released more grape shot, and the deckhands armed themselves with rifles. Those with the best rifle aim were line up on board to shoot at the sailors on the other ship.

The deck of the other ship was becoming a bloody mess. James boarded them without hesitation. The remaining men on deck were quickly dispatched, and the captain surrendered. The mast still drug in the water. It had fallen on the opposite side, allowing the _Interceptor _to board. James took the captain as prisoner, as well as the remaining crew.

It was just clearing noon as the prisoners were shoved into the brig. They changed coarse, heading back home, leaving the other ship to sink into the depths as its mast pulled it down.

<https://nerd-who-writes.tumblr.com/post/189446849561>


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James is kidnapped

It was not the sort of day where one might expect to be kidnapped. In fact, it was a pleasant sort of day, and James was considerably happier than he had been a week ago. He’d returned to Port Royal with his prisoners, who were taken to the cells in the fort, and he was told that he’d set out again in a week’s time. The _Interceptor _was his vessel now, and he would have full command of her when the repairs were done.

Even though he only had to wait a week for his next assignment, he was impatient to get to it. Not only had his men recovered valuable prisoners, but a few of the Lieutenants had acquired valuable gold. A considerable amount of the stuff, as it were.

His men had done well. They were a good crew; James was looking forward to working with them. He’d suffered two losses during the battle. One of them was new to the trade, and the other was a mere midshipmen. James had looked upon those limp bodies with great sorrow, though he may not have shown it. They were given a proper sea burial, tossed overboard to forever feel the embrace of the waves.

Presently, little could dampen James’ spirits. He was itching to do something, but the most action he would find in his day was to teach the younger boys how to sword fight. They were all good students, thankfully, and wanted to do their best. Perhaps their best wasn’t very good, but they were trying.

It was as James was teaching them how to more effectively parry blows when a bell rang. The sound reverberated through the sweltering air. It was the sign that something had gone terribly wrong.

James jogged up to the top of the ramparts to see if he could observe what was going on. A ship was pulling out from the docks. Obviously, it wasn’t supposed to be doing so. It was a schooner; a quick little thing with two masts and giant sails. It was a merchant vessel, though commonly used by pirates due to its speed and the fact that it could sail through shallow waters.

James had a sinking suspicion that a few pirates had escaped their cells. It seemed near impossible, but it was the only explanation he could think of. He turned to go in search of news and orders, but they came to him in the large form of Admiral Hughes.

“I see, Captain, that we have a bit of a predicament down there. That being said, the cells below us are still full of pirates.” He gave James a look. James decided the man’s gaze was an unpleasant place to be. “Get down there, chase down that damn boat, and tell me who’s trying to steal Naval ships!”

“Yes, sir.” James nodded and jogged off.

Descending the stairs to reach the docks took more effort than James would have liked, but he made it down in good time. Many of the sailors present made their surprise at James’ speed clear. There were, thankfully, a handful of sailors awaiting commands.

The schooner was getting farther away from shore by the second. It was fast. James looked over to his own ship. Supposedly, it was the fastest in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, it was still undergoing repairs. That being said, all the repairs that needed to be done were well above the waterline. In a split-second decision, James loaded his men onto the ship.

They caught up with the schooner more quickly than James would have thought. They pulled up right alongside the ship. James tried hailing its captain, only to find that there was none. There was nobody to be seen on the other deck. No crew, no captain, and nobody manning the wheel. James was, at that point, downright suspicious. The ship couldn’t have just drifted off from where it had been at port; all ships were thoroughly tied down.

He gave the order to board. The wooden slats went down, and he himself was the first across- and the only across. The boarding plank was knocked down by something. No, someone. Sitting with their back to the railing, completely hidden from view of the _Interceptor, _was none other than a guilty looking cartographer.

Benjamin had only had to push the board away and cut some of the grappling hooks with a sword, which looked absolutely ridiculous in his hands. He shrugged up at James, mouthing something James couldn’t quite catch.

A shout from his own crew distracted him. The schooner was quickly pulling away from the _Interceptor, _leaving the superior ship in its wake. James didn’t know what to make of things at all. Why would his ship be stuck in the water?

The answer came from the mouth of Theodore Groves, who yelled across the gap. “Someone’s disabled the rudder chain!”

That was the last James heard before, for the second time, a hard elbow came into contact with his head.

James was as pleased with the turn of events as one might expect, which is to say, not at all. He was propped up in a chair in a most uncomfortable position. Upon opening his eyes, he decided he was in the captain’s cabin, or what passed for one on a schooner. Glancing about, he saw many maps and charts, no doubt the work of Benjamin.

James didn’t like to think that he had been kidnapped. As he sat alone in his confinement, for his wrists were tied quite skillfully to his chair, he reflected on the mistakes he had made in trying to recapture the ship. The first was that he had been the first man to board, which was an error on his part. Forever after, he decided, he would let someone else go before him so that he might take stock of the situation.

His second mistake was in not trying to get back to the _Interceptor. _He could’ve at least jumped overboard and swam back. His third was in not looking for potential enemies, being distracted, and being caught off guard in general.

Before he could get too self deprecating, a door opened. Bright light filtered into the otherwise dark room, and James squinted to make out the figure before him.

It was the siren, and he might have guessed. She stood, weight on one foot, hand on a hip. She regarded him with something cold in her eye. Now, she was dressed in more than a shirt or towel, which was good for both of them. In fact, she looked down at him in dark trousers and a shirt, ruffles spilling out the front. It complimented her long hair, but James didn’t have time to dwell on it before someone else stepped in behind her.

It was Benjamin. He was bereft of his awkward hunch, and his typical countenance. Something about him had changed drastically. He too had new clothes. They were similar to his companion’s, save that his pants were of light fabric and he wore a vest, and his hair was slicked back. Normally, the blond mop was all over the place, obscuring Ben’s facial features and receiving ink smudges of its own. Both sauntered up to him, and he noticed another difference when Ben spoke.

“So, James. I’m sorry it had to be like this, but we needed someone who knew what they were doing.”

James could only stare, slack jawed. The voice escaping Ben’s mouth was decidedly feminine. “Just who are you?” He stuttered.

Ben- or not Ben, actually- laughed. “I’m Alice Fletcher, guttersnipe of London no more!” She gave a bow and a flourish of her hand.

The siren rolled her eyes and approached him, a scrap of paper in hand. She scribbled on it before handing it over for him to read.

_‘Now that I have a ship, you will help me.”_

“And what if I said no?” He tried to put a cutting edge into his voice despite his surprise; the voice he used when admonishing sailors for poor conduct. He wasn’t sure it had produced its full effect, as the siren seemed undaunted and unamused.

_‘I didn’t say you had a choice.’_

James read the paper with no little surprise. That she had the audacity to treat him so! He was not going to put up with it, not for a minute. “I will not let you order me to your whims, Miss. You will release me, and I will be on my way.”

The siren rolled her eyes. James glared daggers at her, but to no avail. She strode out, leaving him in the cabin with an upbeat cartographer, not at all the one he was used to.

“You really should consider cooperating. It’ll do you good. If you make her too angry, she’ll throw you overboard.”

“Currently, I think such a situation would be favorable.”

“Come on now, it’s not as bad as you make it out to be.” Alice gulped, fully aware of the growing anger of the man next to her. “She could really use the help.”

“Why should I? I would be breaking the law by captaining a stolen ship.” James could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing. “And that’s besides the matter. I have a life in Port Royal that I intend to stay with.”

“Oh really? Because from what I’ve heard, you found it pretty boring.”

James could only scowl. He suddenly regretted his talks with the youth. Back in the fort, it had seemed harmless to tell her a thing or two. Then again, his perception of the woman had been completely different; he hadn’t known she was a woman at all! He certainly hadn’t expected her to help pressgang him into working for a siren.

“Have it your way. I thought you might be useful, but if you prove not to be, I’m sure Merielle won’t mind drowning you. She eats humans, you know. You’ll make a good meal, but I hate to be rid of you. I started to like you, you know.”

James tried not to let his worry show on his face. He’d heard legends about sirens eating humans, but they couldn’t actually be true, of course. Yes, it was all nonsense. “Merielle?” He asked.

“That’s her name, not that you ever bothered asking. I’m sure you wanted to know, though, enraptured as you are by her. After all, who isn’t? All of Port Royal was talking about her, romanticizing her into some kind of goddess of seduction. I’m sure you’d like to find that out for yourself.”

Heat crept up James’ neck and into his face. It’s true that he’d been curious, but certainly not in that way. He had every right to wonder about the siren who’d walked into his house in nothing but a towel, asked for his help, and elbowed him in the head. It was some sort of dream- or some sort of nightmare- that he wasn’t intent on living.

“To be clear,” he cleared his throat, “I wish to return home, that is all.”

“Of course. Well, shame, that.” Alice stretched and left the room.

James was back to being alone in the gloomy space. After about twenty minutes, he had the ropes tying his hands to the chair undone. He’d worked on them before the girls’ appearance, and finally managed to slip them off. He quickly ridded himself of the ones around his ankles and stood.

He took stock of his situation. Realistically, he couldn’t sail home by himself. Two people could man a ship, but one couldn’t do it alone. James was dependent on the girls if he wanted to get anywhere. He didn’t suppose threatening them would get him anywhere, nor would it make him any friends. But working with them- it was preposterous. Perhaps he was hallucinating the entire ordeal, due to some sort of sunstroke while at work, and he’d wake up to find nothing changed.

He grabbed a tempting bottle of rum sitting on a little table to his left. Uncorking it, he let some amber fluid slide down the back of his throat, warming his body as it went down. He mulled things over some more, but to no avail. There was nothing he could do that was beneficial to his situation.

He slid the door to his room open, stepping out into the warm light. He was noticed quickly, and not by the friendliest eyes. Merielle held a pistol aimed at his chest. She advanced on him until the cold barrel came into contact with his jacket.

“I think she means to say that she won’t miss.” Alice looked at him in a way that told him there was no way for him to win.

He’d known that already. He turned to Merielle. Her dark eyes were cold. He sighed. “How could I be of assistance?”

Merielle raised her eyebrows. Even without words, she was as full of sass as they come. _‘So now that you’ve had time to see all the many reasons you’re wrong,’ _her expression seemed to say, _‘you’re ready to cooperate? How charming. I’ll try to make this voyage as pleasurable for you as possible, princess.’_

“First,” Alice interrupted his thoughts, “you could come to the helm and help us with a bearing. I know where we’re going, I just don’t quite know how to get us there. I’m afraid I’ll mess us up if I point us in any certain direction.”

She showed him about where they were and where they were trying to go. Figuring out how to navigate at sea was complicated business, and James would’ve given anything to have a navigator with them. He wracked his brain for the exact way to calculate where they were going, but he supposed he’d just have to rely on the map, in the end.

When she pointed out their destination, he scoffed. “What could you possibly want there?”

“Information.”

“Of what sort? All you’re going to get are stories from loony old drunks and catcalls from terribly behaved men. There’s nothing of meaning, nor of value, there.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

James doubted it. Tortuga was a flea bitten, rat infested nest of heretics and drunkards. And pirates. That was worst of it all. Pirates from around the Caribbean, along with other waters, passed through Tortuga all the time. It would take every fiber of his being not to give himself away. If he was recognized, he’d be grossly outnumbered. For the first time, Tortuga elicited more emotions than just disgust. He was, though only a little, afraid.

Merielle sauntered up to them with all the authority of a queen. James didn’t like it, but he’d have to put up with it if he wanted to make it out of the mess. He made a quick plan to book passage back to Port Royal from Tortuga.

“What’s the plan?” He asked the women. They’d stolen a small, harmless ship, and as far as he knew, they had no information as to the location of the pirate they were hunting.

There was a plan. It was long, and complicated, and not likely to work. James didn’t like it one bit. But there was a plan, and that was better than drifting aimlessly in ruthless waters. But not by much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James meets some other characters we know...

Tortuga was swimming with the exact sort of scum James wanted to see in a prison cell. Not only was there piracy, but there was a depressing amount of poverty. The streets were littered with garbage, and buildings were half dilapidated. People wore clothes they must’ve owned for years; men and women wore clothing that hardly covered their frames and children wore little more than rags. Grim covered every surface, even people.

James was absolutely disgusted, but he did his best to hide it. He’d changed into more fitting attire. It was much better than anything he’d get around here, making him stand out, but it didn’t set off a red flag for everyone in a mile’s radius like his uniform would.

He and the two girls headed off for a large tavern. It was run down like the rest of the city, but it was passable. It desperately needed a new paint job, as the old white of the building was flaking off to reveal gaping sections of dark, slimy looking wood underneath.

The smell was what hit him first. The tavern, though it was almost covered up by a strong smell of alcohol, smelt like dirt and piss. It was everything James could do to stop himself from gagging and raising his shirt over his nose. He had to breathe through his mouth. He didn’t know how the women next to him were putting up with it.

Merielle sauntered purposefully towards a certain table. There were a couple people sitting around it, but she looked comfortable enough inviting herself into their midst. They hardly turned as she approached, all enraptured in some sort of conversation about god knew what.

One perked up, looking to see Merielle approaching. His eyes instantly became wider, adopting the look of a mouse being hunted by a cat. The dark orbs flitted around in search of escape before landing on Alice, and then on James. When they came to rest on him, James saw them harden into something much flintier than they had been.

James didn’t know the man, but he felt like he should. He had dreadlocks falling past his shoulders, a red scarf around his head, and dark, kohl rimmed eyes. Something about him seemed mysterious, and rather dangerous. James didn’t like it. He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, a look he was very used to giving to pirates. And no doubt the man across from him was one such villain.

The pirate greeted Merielle with familiarity. He was much to flattering, and she took all his words without changing her expression.

“My dear, dear Merielle. It’s lovely to see you again. I’ve missed you,” he gushed, holding out his arms for a hug she didn’t accept. “I’m afraid things have gone south for you, but I’m sure you can figure out a solution. I’d love to be of assistance, but I was just embarking on a journey to the Americas.” He gave an incredibly fake smile that fooled no one.

He seemed to notice James and Alice standing off to the side for the first time, though James knew full well he’d been watching them all along. He sashayed over to them.He had a particular gait, like he was completely inebriated. His eyes told otherwise. They were constantly taking in information, moving about and judging people.

Taking Alice by the hand, he asked, “And who are you, love?”

“My name’s Alice.”

He hummed. James wanted to slap his hand away from Alice’s. He had dirty fingernails, and James was quite sure he could see a brand sticking out from under the man’s shirt sleeve.

“Who might you be?” There was a dripping edge to the man’s tone James didn’t like.

“My name is James.” It was all he said, deciding not to give himself away as anything more than a regular man. “What, if I might ask, is yours?”

“Why, I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.” He held his arms wide, as if to emphasize that he was someone of much importance. He was clearly one for theatrics.

James had heard of the infamous Jack Sparrow, bane of the British Navy and Caribbean Sea. He kept his thoughts to himself. Jack was much less impressive than James had imagined him. In his mind, he’d seen a great, long beard and a chest the size of a barrel. Before him stood a slim, unthreatening drunkard. James was aware, however, that appearances could be deceiving.

Jack was deceptively friendly. James didn’t think it actually got him anywhere, unless he wanted to make himself look like an idiot. It certainly got him nowhere with Merielle, who wasn’t there for small talk. She jabbed a finger at his chest and handed him a piece of paper. She produced another, deeply worn piece of paper from inside her pocket and slapped it right into his chest. It looked to be a letter of some sort, and Jack didn’t look eager to read it. Judging by how old it looked, and it looked old indeed, it was sure to have pent up anger and past arguments revisited within the text.

Jack instead read the first piece of paper. He didn’t look thrilled. “I can’t help you, dearie. I’m sorry, I really am.”

Merielle, obviously prepared for this response, produced another piece of paper on which something else was written. James found himself admiring her dedication to her cause.

“Oh dear. Well, there’s no getting around it then.” Jack shrugged. “I can help, but what’s in it for me?”

Merielle turned to Alice, who had a pad of paper with her and a writing utensil. The siren put down the pen, picked it up, paused, thought, and then put the pen back on the paper. Whatever she’d written, James didn’t see, but when Jack saw it, he smiled. It couldn’t be a good thing.

Just as he was wondering how to escape back home, James’ eyes fell on someone he hadn’t noticed before. There, at the table that had previously hosted Mr. Sparrow, was a familiar face. The man was small, and blended well with the surrounding people. He was hunched over the table, whispering with someone or another, drawing no attention to himself at all whatsoever.

“Mr. Gibbs?” James asked, astonished. Gibbs had served Britain at one point. He’d worked on a ship of James’ back in India. He’d left a good time before James had, but James hadn’t expected to find him in a pirate’s hole of all places.

“Mr. Norrington,” Gibbs choked. He was clearly less than thrilled to see his former Captain. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I’m...” Jame’s couldn’t find a good answer, so he didn’t answer at all. “Where did you go after India?” He asked, trying to change the flow of conversation.

“They stuck me here, and I didn’t like it. The food was bad, the money was bad, and the Captain was bad. I decided it wasn’t worth it.”

James began to fit puzzle pieces together as he accused in a hushed tone, “So you turned to piracy.” It wasn’t a question. James knew full well what Gibbs had done. How he could do it, James didn’t know.

“You make it sound much worse than it actually is. Ya see-” Gibbs didn’t have time to finish his explanation. Jack interrupted him, drawing him into a different conversation.

“My dear Mr. Gibbs, we’ll have to postpone that trip up north. I’m afraid I have... other matters that need handling. You, of course, will sail with me?”

“Have I ever not?” Gibbs let out an exasperated sigh. Clearly, he had been looking forward to whatever awaited him in America.

What deal had been struck, James didn’t know, but he did know that Merielle intended to work with Mr. Sparrow. James couldn’t have that. He knew his reputation was tarnished enough by his exploits in the previous days, and that he should have tried harder to return home. It was time for him to leave.

The group headed out to the docks, presumably to find a crew. James followed them, but only so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion. He also wanted to know what ships were headed in the general direction of Port Royal.

The docks were littered with seasoned sailors. They sat on barrels, some old and tattered, others young and rough, but all of them worn. These were men a captain could rely upon in any instance. James was sure they’d seen their fair share of battle and stormy weather.They stared at him with distaste, judging his shaven face and clean clothes.

Jack struck up conversation with a few men near a barge. They didn’t seem the meanest of the people present, and they were a diverse group. There was an Indian, a white, a very short little man, and a black. They were familiar enough with the pirate, talking about something long past. They were familiar with Gibbs, too, which didn’t please James in the slightest.

An agreement had been struck, and they were part of the crew. They each headed off, looking for more people to recruit. James, for his part, was trying to slip away unnoticed. If he could but take a left and walk up the pathway, he’d be hidden from view by a large vessel. Unfortunately, the pirate’s eyes lingered on him, making him uncomfortable.

The moment Jack glanced away, James slipped up the left path. The girls had been standing with their backs to him, allowing him an easy escape. He narrowly missed running into a fish monger as he sped away.

Once out of sight, he took stock of the ships at port. Most of them were nothing but specks compared to what James was used to. Others were large, probably belonging to merchants and pirates. It donned on James that many of the people in Tortuga were honest fisherman, even if they whittled away what little they had on drink and betting.

He headed towards what he assumed was a merchant vessel. A man standing on the docks nodded at him as he approached. The man was tall and lanky, and he had more than a few false teeth. James was cautious. Tortuga wasn’t a place in which people struck him as being friendly.

“Where is this ship headed?” He asked.

“It’s up to Havana with us. We’ll stop in a couple of cities to sell fish and our wares along the way, but Havana’s where we’ll make port.”

“Are you taking the same route on the return trip?”

“No, we’re stopping in Jamaica for supplies before circling back here.”

“Is there room for passengers?”

“Only if you wish to swab the deck.”

James considered. “It’ll do.” He thanked the man and slipped onto the ship.

He was half way up the gangplank when someone grabbed his arm from behind. He turned, half expecting to find Mr. Sparrow, but it was only a deckhand who showed him about. He had to sleep in the regular quarters with the sailors. He’d do exactly what he’d done at age fifteen; he couldn’t believe he was being demoted fourteen years, but it was his current lot. If he wanted to get home, he had to deal with it.

He strung up a hammock. Internally, he was at war with himself. On the one hand, he couldn’t abandon the life he’d made for himself, nor could he betray his countrymen. On the other, curiosity was nagging at him. He desperately wanted to see how things would play out. He shook his head, wishing he’d never set eyes on Merielle.

The boat left a few hours later. He saw nothing of his former acquaintances, only the dark shore and cold water.

The work was hard; he hadn’t done anything like it in years. The sun scorched his bare back, and the rigging burned his hands and feet. He had to remove his shirt after the first day; his sweat had soaked through it, and it was too hot. Callouses re-formed on his hands, covering his hands in their old roughness. A stubble grew on his chin. He felt like a different man from the one he’d been only days ago.

Havana was a bright place, colorful and full of life. James hardly took notice. He was impatient to get home. He had three days before the ship would undock and start sailing again. He didn’t have any money, and he had no friends. He slept in a bar; they didn’t charge the passed-out drunkards for a room, so they couldn’t deny him sleeping at a table, either. It was miserable.

He might’ve found the city charming, but it had the same flaws as Port Royal. It was too sense-immersive. He couldn’t create a solid thought in all the noise, the smells, and the vibrant visuals. Perhaps it was for the best. It almost felt good, the distraction. He could nearly lose himself in the bright fabrics and mouthwatering food.

But he wasn’t the one in the clothes, and he couldn’t afford the food. Instead, he had to observe without experiencing any of it, like a starving man eyes a feast. Time passed miserably slowly when he had nothing to do. His life was so dictated by work, he didn’t know what to do outside of it. Without a task to carry out, he felt rather purposeless.

He wandered the streets, often chatted up by flirtatious women... and men. At one point, he might have found it scandalous, but he was too tired to care. Instead, he refused their offers to a bed, but he did accept a few offers to dance.

The locals danced in a widely different fashion than the English. James had only danced in the stiff manner of his countrymen. The Spanish had a much less stiff, though still strict, type of dance. The footwork was impossible, with much more heel and toe clicking than James had ever done. Paired with the music, it was sensational, but James found that he preferred watching over actually doing.

They left soon enough, and it was back to work. There were new faces, ones darker than his own, well tanned by the sun and Spanish heritage. Some were old, while others hadn’t sailed before. He helped tutor a few boys in the way of tying nots and climbing the rigging. One nearly fell, but James managed to catch him by the wrist.

They hung there, suspended over cruelly hard wood, hearts thumping. James pulled the boy up with one arm; the child was so light, James had no trouble. He was humbly reminded of how easy it was to die. He could fancy himself invincible, but it would catch up to him. He shuddered, too, thinking of what might have happened had he not been there.

When Jamaica came into view, James gave an audible sigh of relief. He couldn’t wait to be off the ship and back to where he was supposed to be. They didn’t make port in Port Royal, of course. He’d have to find his way into the city from a different one, but it would be easy enough compared to his previous exploits.

He stepped into Port Royal twenty-four hours later, much to his relief.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while, y'all. Anyway, James has another, less pleasant brush with pirates.

The Governor was all over James when he returned. The man fussed over his well being, which, though appreciated, was also annoying. Weatherby had been terribly afraid for James’ safety. Perhaps too much so, it seemed, as he wouldn’t stop gushing over James’ return.

Elizabeth, too, was relieved to find him alive. She showed it in her own way, pressing her hand into the crook of his arm as they strolled through the gardens. They spoke little; it would’ve been awkward for them both, given that they didn’t really know each other all that well, despite the feeling of familiarity.

James was given a week off of work. He vehemently refused to take the time off, instead jumping right back into it. He was thankful for the distraction. He didn’t want to think about the past few days at all, and his job was dumping paperwork on his desk faster than he could sign it. Not to mention, his ship was to depart in two days, giving him much to look forwards to.

He didn’t like the prospect of running into Merielle again. It was likely that he would, given she was sailing with a pirate, and he’d be forced to arrest her. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t do it. Whatever curiosity he might have had was replaced by frustration. Her cold demeanor had done nothing to make him like her. In fact, he might find some satisfaction in capturing her, if only because her treatment of him hadn’t been particularly nice.

He focused his attentions on the ships that had recently been spotted. A brown brigantine flying a French flag belonged to a successful looter of merchant ships. Though not particularly frightening, James had heard that the captain was a cunning man, more so than any Naval officer.

A light ship from the Americas was a terror to many. It plundered villages where it could, but there were few civilian casualties. They, too, were in the business for the profit. The Captain was a burly blonde, and he had a crew of Irish-American fighters. Not the type to get mixed up with.

The last on the list was a ship flying the Spanish colors. The flags were dark crimson, the color of blood. The ship itself was the deepest shade of black, its wood like the souls of the long dead. The captain was fierce; an excellent sword fighter, and one of the most intelligent men in the Western Hemisphere. It was said that the look in his eye could drive a man mad if he stared long enough.

The list was short and sweet, but it told James what to expect. The Spaniard had eighty guns, so James didn’t want to run into him at all. The encounter would spell certain doom for his crew. He’d leave that one to whoever captained the _Dauntless._

The day he was to depart, he felt refreshed. Back on the open sea, chasing what he might; it was where he belonged. More than any land, any place, James belonged to the sea itself, and wherever it might take him.

A salty wind filled the sails as they drifted off from port. The day was promising, and the men sensed it. They had all been tested, now, and they anticipated what was to come. They would be at sea for nearly a month. In that time, things could be blessedly uneventful, or they could be deadly. They crew would prefer the former.

For his part, James prayed for a mixture of the two. He longed for some action, the thrill of crossing swords, but he dreaded losing people in a fight. He could only hope the best for his men. He hated to be bored; boredom was the ultimate dissatisfaction in life. At the same time, his crew would need breaks between the action.

Gulls cried above them, and waves splashed against the hull. A chorus of voices rung out. Between the orders being given and the song being sung by a few jaunty sailors, the noise was a pleasant cacophony of ship life.

A ship, James had found, was much like any society. It was teeming with life, an entire ecosystem to itself. The sailors were often happy as they set off. The middle of the journey was always the hardest, for the mens’ spirits began to dampen, but the return home bolstered them again. They sang and danced outside of their work, and they were nice enough to speak with. They talked about their sweat-hearts and waxed poetic about any girl they fancied.

It was a matter James refused to discuss or listen to. He disliked being reminded of how alone he was. It had been that way since he left his mother’s house and warm embrace. She was the last, if not the only, person to say she loved him. His father was a cold, hard man and showed nothing of compassion to his son. Outside of family, James had nobody other than a few acquaintances he couldn’t quite call close friends. He longed to start a family of his own, but it was better to not think of it.

Wind whipped through the hair of a red-headed boy, making James want nothing more than to remove his wig. It was bad enough staying in the heavy coat and uniform, but the wig was an extra level of added torture. James supposed it was commonly used in the seventh level of hell to punish wretched souls. Why it had to indicate rank and standing, he hadn’t the slightest idea.

Days passed without incident. James was just beginning to think that things might become boring when the lookout hollered down from his place in the crow’s nest. Boys scurried up and down the ropes to relay messages.

The first was that there was a ship on the horizon. Sure enough, the dusty blot of a faraway ship sat at the edge of the earth. The second was that it was dark, and that it was big, much bigger than they were. Those things combined made a connection snap within James’ head, one that he didn’t want.

The ship, he discerned, was that of the Spaniard. It would be foolish to engage. If they hadn’t been spotted, and James could only hope, then they’d have a chance of slipping away. It wasn’t an honorable thing to do, exactly, but it definitely wasn’t the wrong thing to do, either. Retreat was necessary in some instances.

There was a slight problem with turning away. The wind was against them, and though it wouldn’t affect them greatly should the Spaniard chose to leave them alone, it could be detrimental if he didn’t. And the Spaniard wasn’t known for letting prey slip away from him.

James could only try. They turned about, adjusting the ship’s course, and doubled back on themselves. By evening, the Spaniard had grown closer. By morning, he was within five leagues. A dark mood settled apron James; he didn’t have the means to protect his men in a fight. Every last one of them would die by the cannons of the opposing force.

He wracked his mind for what to do. He sent men down to the oars in an attempt to make things go faster, but it hardly helped. Even if it had, the other ship would’ve caught them eventually, and having a tired crew in battle was a deadly mistake.

With the wind, the _Interceptor _was uncatchable, but against it, the tides turned. The other ship was nearly upon them. With its bow looming over them, James ordered all guns into position. The thundering of cannons never grew softer, nor less surprising with time. Nor did the splintering of wood as the metal came into contact with the ship’s flank.

They were side by side, and the crew looked intimidated under the shadow of such a large vessel. James had doubts of his own. There was no way he could take the ship, and he’d done everything in his power to keep his crew out of danger. Now, there was nothing to do except surrender, and he didn’t find it a savory idea.

As the gun ports opened, chains pulling up the black flaps and exposing eighty deadly looking cannons, James didn’t find the idea of being crushed by them savory, either.

It was too late for him to do anything. The cannons fired on his smaller ship, busting holes through the side. A mast came down, too, on the first volley, and sailors did what they could to cut it away. The round shot from the _Interceptor _hardly dealt any damage. James realized with alarm that a few of his gun ports had been destroyed.

He ran down the stairs into the lower decks. There, men writhed on the ground. Some were missing limbs while others lie dead in a puddle of blood, skulls crushed. His stomach rebelled at the scene. He couldn’t stand looking at his men like that. Blue uniforms were stained dark crimson, and the screams echoed throughout the hull.

By the time he climbed back to the deck, a boarding party was making its way onto his ship. Shots rang out from both sides, but his crew stood no chance. They were sorely outnumbered. Boots hit the deck of the _Interceptor. _James hoped they were taking prisoners.

It was in this boarding party that James noticed the man who must’ve been the captain. There was no mistaking his smirk, nor the look in his eyes. He wore a long, deep red coat, the same color as his sails. Lace bubbled up from the neck and sleeves. A crisp white shirt peeked out from under the jacket, and he wore loose black pants. He had a certain swagger that James automatically disdained.

His troops quickly dispatched many of James’ men, putting holes through their chests. Men dropped like flies on either side of him, crumpling to hit the ground with soft thuds. There was nothing he could do. The captain approached him, a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“A duel?” He called. “Or will you spare your crew and surrender now?” His accent was thick, and the smug look he war was infuriating. Something behind his eyes looked dangerous, and James suddenly decided that being the object of their focus was a bad place to be.

Neither did he want a duel. A sixth sense told him he would loose, no matter how good he was at wielding a sword. There was a moment of tension between them where James said nothing, giving no indication of weakness, nor of idiocy. He would loose either way, no matter what his decision.

James knew what it must look like. Behind his eyes there was fear, and he hated it. A smile tugged at the corners of the other man’s lips. He knew he had won.

“I surrender.” He said it so softly he wasn’t sure it had actually come out of his mouth.

“Well then, I best spare your crew. Or what you have left of it.” He stepped closer to James, much too close. Leaning into his ear, he whispered, “But you have to make the announcement yourself. I want them to watch you surrender.”

James pressed his anger to the pit of his stomach, where he could let it fester and stew. He couldn’t act on it. He could only do as he was instructed, but his limbs wouldn’t move, and his tongue wouldn’t raise off the base of his mouth.

“Come now,” the pirate purred, “be a good officer; follow orders.”

A low growl came from somewhere within James. He was _not _going to let a pirate order him around. Even so, he climbed to the upper deck. The pirate followed, standing close behind. His men were surrounded. Though they tried to fight their way out, it was a miserable failure. James had to clear his throat multiple times, and even then he didn’t think anyone would hear him over the din.

“Hold your fire!” He shouted. His men turned, obviously confused. “I surrender this ship and its crew to the custody of Captain...” He looked questioningly at the man to his right.

“Jimenez. Now, if you’d be so kind, make yourself orderly. It’s easier to take captives that way. And you,” he turned to James, “will accompany me.”

Reluctantly, he followed. He found himself in the captain’s cabin aboard the other ship; it was luxurious, with a giant bed and thick curtains covering the back wall. They could be pulled away to reveal a window James’ height. The curtains kept the room dark, and gave it a sort of ominous aura.

It instantly made James uncomfortable. Alone in the room with the pirate, he had more time to observe the man. He swayed his hips like a woman, and a locket around his neck caught James’ attention. His features were sharp; he had angular cheekbones and a prominent jawline. He was smaller than James by a good deal, but it made him no less menacing.

“Will you stay topside with me, _senõr? _Or will you go down to the brig with your men? Up here you might enjoy some respite from the grime. I pride my ship on being clean.”

“And what service will I be used for if I chose to stay here?”

“None, none. Except that it might be amusing for my men to see you scrub the deck.” Jimenez flashed a wicked smile featuring surprisingly healthy teeth.

James had experienced enough deck scrubbing in the past weeks. He didn’t need any more. “I think I’ll prefer the brig. A captain should stay with his crew, after all.” He managed to keep his tone indifferent while glaring daggers at the pirate.

“How cold,” Jimenez commented. “I suppose it is like that with you northerners. In _España_, we like to keep it spicy.” With that, he winked, and released James to follow his crew belowdecks.

James didn’t know what Jimenez’s definition of spice was, but he didn’t intend to find out. Something told him it had nothing to do with food.

The brig was a damp, unpleasant space. James found himself pressed up against the bars, crammed in with other bodies. There were enough cells to house a warship full of sailors, but James’ men were spread through only a few so that they would be less comfortable. He found himself pressed into the side of Lieutenant Groves. If the man talked, steam might blow out of James’ ears. He was already boiling mad.

It was the second time he’d been kidnapped within the month. Or taken prisoner, or whatever the term was for being held captive against one’s will by filthy pirates. He stewed over all that had happened. At least, he thought, seeing his men behind bars, many of them were safe.

The rest of them were drifting beneath the waves to a watery grave.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James suffers, and is delivered from said suffering.

At some point, the ship came to a halt. They were docked, though where, James couldn’t guess. His imprisonment had been harsh, to say the least. He could hardly keep himself on his feet, let alone think. Every part of his body was sore from standing.

As crammed into the cells as they were, there was no sitting space. Jimenez had done it on purpose. The Englishmen were falling over in their cells. If someone fell, the person next to them would pick them back up. Everyone traded positions by the bars, that way people could hang onto them instead of standing without support. The moments of respite given by the bars were glorious, but soon enough, James could only feel the lead in his legs.

He was parched and starving, but so were his comrades. They were fed gruel; a slushy substance consisting of very little, but somehow always having bugs floating around in it. This alone made many of the men sick, and they were ushered to the bars so they wouldn’t puke within the cell. It gave people cramps for days. Their water was unsanitary. It too made the crew sick, but they had nothing else. There was no option but to drink it and hope for the best.

In the beginning, some of James’ men challenged their captors, taunting them. It was a bad idea. Those who called out insults and slurs were dragged away, only to be returned withblood running from their shoulders to their lower backs.

On one instance, Jimenez decided to make a public example of a midshipmen. James had been so grateful for the fresh air, he’d almost forgotten that he was chained to a line of men, waiting to watch the lashing of a teenager. The whip cracked, sailing through the air on a curved line. James looked at his feet while the whip connected with skin. The boy’s cry was like that of a dying animal. When he was unstrapped from the mast, he slumped, unconscious, to the ground. Red streaks crisscrossed his back, sure to leave puckered scars. He died three days later of infection.

Since then, the crew had been in bad spirits. Many of them simply gave up. The starvation and sickness struck their bodies with unexpected force, and they couldn’t make themselves endure. The first time a body went slack and hit the floor, James almost puked. He couldn’t watch his men whither and die; nor could he accept that the same fate awaited him. It happened twice more. One man had been an officer, and two had been young boys just learning to sail.

Each time, the bile rose at the back of James’ throat. He focused on the ground, inspecting the patterns in the wood. When it grew boring, and it took only a few minutes, he forced himself to continue staring. He needed to focus on something, anything, to keep himself from his thoughts.

His eyes grew unfocused and his mind wandered. Each time, he tried snapping back to focus, but he was so lightheaded he could faint. He blinked back the dizziness and pressed a hand to his throbbing forehead. He would make it. He had no other option. He had to make it.

These words were a stream in his head, flowing by, repeating themselves over and over. He closed his eyes. He only noticed he had been swaying when Groves put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from it. The Lieutenant was pale, too pale, and the bruises under his eyes made him look ghostly.

Everyone had them. Because they could not sit, they could not sleep, either. Often, men fell asleep against the bars, only to be woken to trade places with someone else. They got no more than two hours at a time. They had long since stopped trying to differentiate between day and night, instead switching off every two hours around the clock.

“Steady, Captain,” Groves rasped. “We can’t have you gettin’ faint on us.” He gave the largest smile he could muster, barely more than a twitch of the lips. James watched as a red line appeared on his mouth; the small action had split his lip.

“I won’t,” James whispered back. Even the softest of whispers hurt. He was so dehydrated, and his lips were so cracked that moving them seemed an impossibility.

When the ship stopped, James perked up, but only barely. If anyone else had noticed, they didn’t show it. All James could see were limp bodies and eyes devoid of life, like they saw nothing at all. In the constant gloom, perhaps they didn’t.

He pushed himself off the bars, staggering into a body that didn’t respond, asleep on its feet. He turned his head from side to side, taking in his crew. They were the hopeless and the helpless. Their heads hung low, their bodies were slouched, and their breathing was faint.

James could’ve cried in his frustration and agony. Surely he would die a destitute man aboard a pirate ship surrounded by his friends as they all rotted on their feet. He could hear the revelries above decks, the drinking and eating and merriment. He could almost taste the food, almost feel the drink, but only almost. It had been so long since he’d had a proper meal, his brain couldn’t recreate what it was actually like.

At least he could take joy, though precious little, in the fact that there were still guards outside the cells. He could hear their footsteps on the floor. Something in his mind registered that they weren’t quite right, the footfalls. Too soft, bereft of the clicking of heeled shoes. He didn’t actually register it, slumping back against the bars as shadows filled the room.

His cell clicked open. He didn’t hear it. People who had been resting on the bars fell against the ground in a pile. There was movement all around, but James couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything. He just wanted to slip into oblivion.

Hands shook him. Strong, sturdy hands, not the hands of someone he shared the cell with. He pulled his head off the bars, and found himself face to face with Alice, her face still smudged with ink.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Then, she shook him again, and reached down to uncork her wineskin. It held water, and nothing had ever tasted so good in James’ life. He took a few greedy gulps, letting the liquid pour over his face. He was suddenly refreshed, but the cold water in his stomach reminded him that he was famished.

Alice led him out of the cell, letting him support himself on her arm and shoulder. This he did, and he was led to a porthole. Out of it dangled a ladder. Beneath it was a lifeboat. It was already filled with his crew, along with others James didn’t recognize. He let himself be helped down, but didn’t ask questions in his delirious state.

He could faintly hear an argument going on above him.

“We have to leave, there’s no time! If we’re found, what will we do then?”

“He’s right, we can’t risk being caught. Not to mention, Jimenez is out on the town. We won’t find him, and if we do, we’re in for a fight.”

There was something else, the rustling of paper. James didn’t dwell on it. He sat in the lifeboat; cold, tired, and starving.

The lifeboat pulled away, another taking its place. The small craft bobbed back to another ship, and into it everyone piled. The wood was a familiar light color. James realized he was back on the _Interceptor. _Which also meant he was under the command of a siren turned pirate. At the moment, it wasn’t an issue.

He was ushered below decks by people with unfamiliar faces and accents, and was given a hammock. He had once hated sleeping in hammocks, but in his current state, they were as comfortable as a fluffy bed with pillows.

He awoke with a sharp pain in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he could move. He was in so much pain that he was sure the slightest contraction of muscles would cause him to roar in agony. Gingerly, he transferred his weight from the hammock to the floor. His body protested, each muscle screaming its own profanities at him in a language only he could understand.

Getting up the stairs and into the light was torturous. He blinked rapidly in the sunlight; he hadn’t seen it in days. The deck was covered in men sitting down eating breakfast. They sat on the wood in small clusters. The Naval men didn’t bother sticking to their own company. Pirates ate alongside them, joking with them and offering them drink. Alice sat with Groves; somehow it didn’t surprise James in the slightest.

He recognized some of the pirates, ones he’d talked to alongside Merielle and Jack. They stood, overseeing everything from one end of the deck. Merielle looked like a man in her attire, save for the hair she let fly around her face, wisps of it gliding over her face in the morning breeze. She looked strong, and carried herself every part the captain. Mr. Sparrow stayed at her side. What they said to each other, James hadn’t the slightest idea.

He stumbled onto deck, awkwardly searching for somewhere to sit. It reminded him of his first day working in Port Royal. He subconsciously moved towards Alice, who was laughing with a few of his men. She didn’t look surprised when he plunked down beside her.

“You’re up!” She exclaimed. “It’s good to see you moving.”

She handed him bread and fruit, both of which he eagerly gulped down.

“Hold on.” She placed a hand over his to stop him from eating. When he gave her a quizzical look, she explained, “You’ll give yourself terrible cramps, scarfing it down like that. You have to eat normally. I know it’s hard because you’re literally starving, but trust me. I’ve been there.”

He didn’t pry, but he believed her. He did his best to eat slowly. When he was finished, he rubbed his eyes and leaned back, resting his weight on his arms.

“How do you feel?” Alice asked.

“Better.”

“Meaning?”

“Like absolute shit.” He stared off into the horizon, ignoring the shocked faces around him. The last thing they had expected to hear was James’ brutally honest feelings first thing in the morning. Not that they’d ever expected to hear him speak so openly and crudely, but he smiled in knowing it. He found that he liked surprising them.

Alice laughed, a clear, ringing sound, and it took some attention away from him. He noticed how the men looked at her. Regularly, he wouldn’t have condoned open staring from his crew, but he figured Alice could handle it. She probably knew exactly what she was doing. She left them, and James reveled in his new freedom under a pale sky.

He went to find her after a time. They were out on open water, God knew where. As far as he could squint, James could see nothing but the flat, blue disk. Even the waves splashing against the hull were small. He couldn’t find a whitecap for miles.

He found Alice leaning up against the railing, watching the unchanging scenery. He made a point to clear his throat when he approached. She turned to him, her loose shirt fluttering in the breeze under a waistcoat she’d procured.

“How did you know?” He’d found his voice again, which was good because he had many, many questions.

“We’d been tracking Jimenez for days. We followed him into that town with every intention of getting Merielle’s voice back, which, if you didn’t know, he stole from her. We only learned about your capture through talk in town. We arrived a little after he did, and by that time, news had spread. We decided the best course of action was to free you.”

“I don’t suppose that pleased Merielle at all.”

“Actually, she was the one that suggested it.”

James had a hard time believing his ears. The siren was fixated on getting her voice back; he didn’t think she’d sacrifice that for a group of sailors.

“It’s true!” Said Alice, seeing his disbelief. “She didn’t even know it was you being kept down there. She only found that out when she saw you herself. She kind of panicked when she realized it; she thought you were dead. She looked very distraught when she first saw you. She made us open your cell first and get to you.”

“I’ll have to thank her later. What about Jimenez?”

“He was in town. Even if we could’ve found him, there would’ve been a terrible fight. Merielle wanted to go after him once you and your crew were safe, but Jack and I argued against it.”

James’ mind flashed back to the previous night’s argument. “Good. You all could’ve gotten killed.”

“I’ll tell you, she isn’t happy right now. She wanted her voice back, but now we have to dump you all somewhere. We don’t have the provisions to feed all of you.”

“I can understand that. Is there a chance you can drop us at Tortuga? I managed to make my way back to Jamaica from there pretty easily.”

“I don’t know how easy it’ll be for all of your men, though. There are so many of you.”

“There used to be more.” James couldn’t stop the lump in his throat. Surveying the deck, his crew was significantly smaller than when they initially set off. The knowledge made him sick to his stomach. Sure, he’d watched his men die before, but they’d always had a chance. The fight with Jimenez had been a slaughter.

James caught Merielle by the arm on the quarterdeck. He’d wandered around for a few minutes while looking for her and found her as she walked by. She turned back to him, shrugging his hand off her arm. When she saw his face, her eyes narrowed.

“Thank you.” He glanced at the deck before looking back into her eyes. They were swirling dark pits in the shade of her face. “For rescuing my crew, and for rescuing me.”

She nodded. On a slip of paper, she wrote, _‘Now we’re even.’_

“Yes, well.” He made to walk away, but something stopped him. “Thank you, too, for your concern about me.” He had his back turned to her, so he couldn’t see her reaction. When he turned, she was still there, staring at him. She turned and walked away without another word. It was a cold reaction, yes, but not at all an unexpected one.

James mused over what Alice had said about Merielle’s concern. It surprised him, her reaction, and something inside him constricted the tiniest bit, as if to let go of his negative feelings for her. He hadn’t expected her to feel anything towards him, for she certainly didn’t show it.

_That, _James thought, _she’ll have a harder time explaining._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James returns to Merielle's crew, and learns a thing or two about the siren.

Tortuga appeared out of the mist. James’ nose wrinkled in distaste; he didn’t fancy being back. He was too tired to go about getting back to Port Royal- again. He procrastinated thinking about it, instead enjoying time out of the bilges.

Merielle’s crew and his crew were very different. Her crew, of course, was made of pirates; and they were a happy, loose sort. Not used to the pomp and structure of the Royal Navy, or any organization requiring good behavior, they were loud and friendly. They constantly joked with each other. Some raced up the mast to see who had the fastest time, and others had, though James was loathe to witness, burping competitions. Such behavior wouldn’t have been acceptable in the military, and certainly not under James’ command.

His crew, on the other hand, got right down to work. After a few day’s respite, which they much needed, they began to help where they could. At first, they acted just as they would’ve before the _Interceptor _had been captured, but they lightened up after realizing they weren’t under strict supervision. They befriended some of the pirates, sitting with them at mealtimes and working beside them.

As far as James could tell, there weren’t certain positions in the crew other than the first mate. It was Gibbs who took on the role, and he did it as well as he had when serving alongside James. Jack was a co-captain, it became clear, because Merielle was in charge of the endeavor. She was a natural, pacing up and down the deck with purpose.

Alice was nowhere near as stiff. She raced up and down the deck, doing her best to help out. Many of the Naval men remembered her, and they affectionately referred to her as ‘Inky’. She still drew maps, but she drew other things, too. James watched her create portraits with nothing but blue ink. They were detailed and mesmerizing, and James found himself fascinated.

James himself was but another sailor. He tied nots and climbed the rigging, and he helped the younger boys who had been under his command. Something about his position as captain being gone allowed his crew to be friendlier with him. He appreciated it, secretly. Though at first he found it odd and disrespectful, he reminded himself that he was no longer in charge of them, and was in fact one of them. He grew to like the way he could act around his former subordinates.

When Tortuga came into view, James panicked. He knew it was his job to return to Port Royal, but what then? Bad luck followed him wherever he went, and he seemed to end up with Merielle whether it be by his will or not. Besides, he couldn’t shake the nagging voice in the back of his head that wondered what would happen to her next, or if she’d succeed. Even deeper inside him, Beckett’s orders were ingrained into his mind like a brand.

They docked, and James stepped off with his crew. They looked happier than he had seen them in a while, but their smiles were quickly dimming. They said their goodbyes to newfound friends. James awkwardly spoke with Alice and a few others. Then, he thanked Merielle. It was sincere, but she only inclined her head, giving no response of her own.

As he walked towards the gangplank, Alice whispered in his ear. “There will always be a place for you here, as well as any who wish to stay.”

It was like she knew his mind better than he did. Thanking her, he and his crew left. They wandered along the docks for awhile, speaking with ship captains, but James’ mind was somewhere else entirely. When evening fell, he thought about taking them to an inn at which they could stay.

Instead, he dragged them all to an open, grey cobbled space. There he had them sit like schoolchildren as he addressed them.

“I know many of you are anxious to return home. However, I’m sure that just as many of you aren’t.” The men stirred, looking at each other, but James continued. “If any of you wish to stay behind, I invite you to do so. There will be no repercussions if you should choose to go home.”

There was movement, a rustle in the crowd. They shifted where they sat, some unable to meet his eyes. Others stared intently, waiting for his next words.

“I myself am staying.” There was an intake of breath. “I have a job to do, one that Lord Beckett needs of me. Any who stay will be counted among my assistants, and any who go will be understood. You will all have your jobs in the end.

None of this will be spoken of beyond this moment. Those who return home will inform Lord Beckett that I have stayed to see his will done, along with others to help me. Those who stay will ask no questions, and they will say nothing to our companions aboard the _Interceptor. _Any man who does will be flogged for insubordination. Thank you.”

When James stepped back from his place, everyone began talking at once. They spoke in whispers, no doubt wondering what it was Beckett had asked for. James had a sick feeling in his gut. He had needed to tell them in order for them to understand his decision to stay behind, but he had little hope they would keep their mouths shut. If anything was said...

James preferred not to think about it. Instead, he set himself to sorting out two groups: those who would stay, and those who would return home. At first, nobody agreed to stay. Then, one by one, as they realized it was okay to, men stepped forward. Few of them were officers; the officers had families and careers that they wanted to enjoy in Port Royal. Others of lower rank were of a different mind.

When the groups were sorted, he showed people to all the different places they could find employment, and made sure to set people up with ships that would carry them home if they so wished. Many stayed behind, but many also left. James felt relieved to be surrounded by familiar faces; it would’ve been suspicious if he’d been the only one to stay.

He wandered back to Merielle’s ship. A good portion of his men had decided to stay, and they were already on deck. As he approached, Groves waved at him. He was talking animatedly with Alice again; James decided that they were a good pair, and thick as thieves.

The skin on the back of his neck prickled. Merielle watched him from the upper deck. It was a bothersome feeling, being watched by someone so cold and calculating. Especially because James wished she wasn’t. He wanted to connect with her somehow, though he doubted it would happen.

Another pair of eyes watched him, rimmed with kohl and judging. Jack’s dark eyes bored into James’ own when they made eye contact, and James couldn’t help but feel that there was something intensely unsettling about the pirate.

With what little pride he had left, James approached Merielle. Her expression was indifferent. It irritated James greatly because he wanted to know how she felt about his return. He’d rather she be brutally honest than show him fake kindness, however small it might be. He stood before her, feeling like he was a bug to be dissected. She evaluated him with coldness.

She pulled out a piece of paper. _‘I thought you went home’._

“No, actually.”

_‘Why?’_

“I...” James couldn’t answer, and she squinted at him.

_‘Whatever your reason may be, I want your dedication. It will not be acceptable for you to change sides. Am I understood?’_

“Yes.”

He walked away with a lump in his throat, joining the rest of the crew. It had taken a lot to keep his voice steady, what with knowing his own lie combined with the severity of Merielle’s look. Gibbs cast him a pitying glance, which James might have appreciated if he hadn’t felt so guilty. Somehow, the man knew that whatever Merielle said, it hadn’t been to James’ benefit.

James joined Alice and Groves near the rails. The ship wasn’t set to sail for another day or so, allotting everyone some time to wander on shore. In his current state, he could use a drink, and the decanter of brandy Alice held was tempting. She poured him a glass without asking whether he wanted one.

“So, you’re back!” She sipped at her glass of brandy and leaned back against the rails, not at all surprised by his appearance.

“You were expecting me?”

“I thought you might show up again. After all, you seem to get stuck with us. I think it could be fate.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.” Even as he said it, James knew he was lying. He had begun to believe in fate more and more of late.

Night rolled around and a fog settled over the _Interceptor. _James was just retiring to the lower decks when a hand grabbed his arm. Merielle’s thin fingers rested on his shirt; he’d shed his coat, as it was absolutely filthy from his imprisonment. He paused mid-step, and she used the pause to push a paper to his chest.

_‘You’re a captain. I need your knowledge. You can’t be wasted as a deckhand.’_

“Thank you.” James was confused. “But what would you like me to do? You have a captain, don’t you?”

She scribbled on the small pad of paper she kept in her breast pocket. _‘Not one that I can trust.’ _And on the back, _‘Perhaps the two of you combined will prove reliable.’ _She motioned to him then to follow her.

She walked to the captain’s cabin. The inside hadn’t been refurbished, it was exactly like James had left it, except that some of the furniture had been rearranged. His bed wasn’t as he’d left it, instead being shoved to one side of the room. His desk was overrun with maps and charts.

She took a seat at the desk, motioning for him to sit across from her. He did so, pulling out a chair on the other side. She slid a roll of paper across the desk. It was long and prewritten, like she’d expected to show it to him. She must’ve written it that afternoon.

_‘I suppose you deserve to know the story behind what’s going on. I asked you for help first, after all._

_ Over a year ago, I was in Spain. I met a pirate captain, a seductive, dangerous man. He asked me to help him find the Isle of Sirens. There, he planned to maroon his rival, a man he’d captured and had down in the bilges. Jimenez fed me a story that broke my heart, and I believed it. In hindsight, I never should’ve trusted him. It was naive._

_ Once at the island, he threw me into his prison, and he captured many others. He harvested us for our tears, torturing my sisters. The man he’d imprisoned was part of his crew, not a rival captain. I managed to escape, freeing my fellows in the process. I led them to a gun port, through which they escaped, but Jimenez caught me. I raked my nails down his face in an attempt to free myself.’_

James looked up, noticing that her nails were much sharper than that of a human’s. Where his were blunt, hers had pointed ends. He now knew where the scar on Jimenez’s face had come from.

_‘He dragged me back to my prison, claiming I had seduced him. He took me to a witch who stole my voice and bound it to the necklace he wears. He claimed it was to keep me from lying and seduction. People jeered at me, they mocked me, and they blamed me. I felt taken advantage of. This man I thought I could trust betrayed me and lied about me._

James tried not to let his face give him away. Of course he’d seen the necklace, but knowing what it was only made him feel worse. He didn’t know how to feel.

_ Everyone believed him. After all, sirens are known for the seduction of our voice. But Spaniards are known for the same damn thing.’_

James blinked. “You were in love with him.”

A minute stretched between them where she only stared at him. Finally, a small _‘yes’ _appeared on the bottom of the paper.

“I’m sorry.”

_‘It’s my fault. I should’ve known better.’_

“He shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

_‘I’ve learned my lesson.’_

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

They made eye contact, and James saw how hurt she really was. Her cold demeanor was nothing but self defense, a guard against any who might test her. She was smart; she didn’t trust him, and she didn’t trust Jack. He wanted to comfort her, but didn’t want to invade her space.

There was a moment between them when he thought she might write something more, but it dissipated as quickly as it came, and she dismissed him.

How many times would James hear stories of women who’d been jilted by devious lovers? Perhaps the most important lesson his father had taught him, other than those that had previously saved his life in combat, was to treat women with respect. They weren’t objects to be had. They were as much their own people as men were.

Jack sauntered up to him from out of the shadows. “I take it she’s told you everything.”

“Yes.” James shifted to face the pirate. “But I still don’t understand how she knows you.”

Feigning surprise, Jack said, “She didn’t tell you? I’m offended. How do you think she got off that accursed ship, mate?”

“You rescued her.”

“Not that I knew she was onboard at the time. We blew a hole in the side of the ship with one of our cannons, and it happened to be into her cell. She jumped out, and we picked her up before her legs could even become a tail. After all, you should always save female prisoners.”

“And?”

“When we figured out she was a siren, I let her go. It’s bad luck to keep a woman against her will, especially one that could kill you later. She opted to stay and hunt Jimenez with me.”

“She left you at some point. Why?” James found himself scraping for every bit of knowledge he could get. He was commonly the person with the information, but in that instance, he felt like the only one without it.

“We stopped pursuing him. I had different plans, a way to make money. She left to continue fighting for revenge.”

“She traced him all the way here.” It was more of a thought to himself.

“She’s a dangerous opponent.”

“More so than Jimenez?”

“Who’s really more dangerous, mate; a man who can kill you, or a woman who can steal your heart and keep it? Jimenez was just as enraptured in her as she was in him.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a warning. It was a threat.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James and the crew have to deal with a storm

The sun broke over the horizon, slanted rays falling over the ocean to the _Interceptor’_s right. It peeked through dark blue clouds before disappearing again behind the crest of a whitecap. The sea was rough- it had been since early the previous night- and James was in charge of an early morning watch.

A storm was just starting up, and it wasn’t kind. Tarps already covered the space where stairs led to the lower decks. Men were hard at work trimming the sails. James was glad he was supervising instead of doing. He hated being on the masts in the dark, especially if they were slick, and rain was beginning to patter onto the deck.

The ship tossed and rolled. Thankfully, even the greenest sailors were accustomed to the typical movement of the ship, and none of them were sick over the side. The bow dipped, wildly plunging the ship down the other side of a large wave. The deck was wet now; the rain had increased, pouring down in torrents.

The sheets of water quickly soaked through James’ thin clothes. It was a cold rain, made even worse by the howling wind that whipped up around them. Typically, rainstorms in the Caribbean were warm and pleasant. James had watched his men enjoy working in the rain, and it had been much the same in India. In fact, James had liked the warm rains over the Indian Ocean; they’d been refreshing and calming.

Dealing with freezing water and wind was another matter. Men slipped about, trying to gain their footing on impossibly wet wood. In the rigging, the crew worked tirelessly to tie up the ends of the sails they wouldn’t get ripped away. Together, the two crews formed a formidable team. Between the efficiency of the naval men and the experience of the pirates, James didn’t have to worry about much.

The ship increased its rolling. It was much harder for James to stand away from a rail. He needed something to hang onto if he didn’t want to be tossed around. He wasn’t wearing his shoes, which slipped all too easily in the rain, instead preferring to stand barefoot on deck.

Merielle, awoken by the sudden change in weather, appeared next to him. She grabbed onto him to keep from falling. He knew she wanted to watch the action unfold and supervise, but it was dangerous for her to be about. For one, she didn’t have the steadiest footing, being a typically tailed creature, and she wasn’t able to communicate with him.

Everything was fine for a while, leaving James with no concern other than to keep Merielle on her feet. Then, two things happened at once. The first was that the ship hit something underneath them. It was impossible to tell how deep the swirling water below them was. That tossed both James and Merielle off their feet. The second was that a sail came loose, billowing out in the wind.

It caused a moment of panic for James. First, he got Merielle back on her feet. Then, he looked around wildly to determine what to address first. The sail was an immense concern, but he also needed to know what the ship had hit and if it had caused damage.

Answers came to him at the same time. Jack appeared at one side, and, once he saw the sail, motioned that he would help fix it. Somehow, it relieved James, who believed in the pirate’s abilities. On his other side was Groves, who gesticulated wildly.

“We’ve hit a reef!” His voice was nigh unintelligible over the din.

James swore. A reef was not a good sign. Taking Merielle’s hand, he led her down to the lower decks. He figured it was safer for her there, where there was more for her to grab onto.

Already, people were bailing water from a crack in the hull. It wasn’t large, to James’ immense relief, but it was still a concern. He joined in, Merielle right behind him at the pumps. They were hard work. A man could only do it for minutes at a time before tiring. It was so taxing that there was a six man lineup at each one.

Now, the watches didn’t matter; it was all hands on deck. Half the crew hadn’t slept properly, and as such were weary. James took over for a young man who looked like he might fall over at any second.

The water was up to their shins. The pressure against the breach in the hull pushed other boards inwards, making them creak and groan. One snapped. Automatically, water seeped through, knocking people off their feet. James slipped to a knee.

The intensity of the pumping doubled. Boards appeared to fix the holes, and men set to work. It was a mess; people were scattered across the floor, trying to scrabble to their knees under the crushing weight of the water. Others were trying to nail shut the breaches, but the water coming from the holes pushed the men back.

Merielle was on the floor, flopping around helplessly underwater. James automatically reached out to her before remembering that she couldn’t drown. The ship tipped to one side, and she rolled with it. James missed her hand by an inch.

It was his turn at the pumps again, and it took all his focus to keep him from slipping. Something thrashed underwater. It was Merielle. Her legs had merged into a tail, and she couldn’t get out from under the sailors’ feet. James could pay little attention, deciding to help her after he was done pumping.

He switched with someone else, wading over to where Merielle was. The water was waist deep. He pulled her upwards by her arm. Her fingers scrabbled at his, pushing him away. He didn’t understand; he needed to get her out of the water to keep her from being a hazard. He tried again, and was met by the same response.

Switching tactics, he moved to his knees, submerging his torso underwater. She grabbed his hand, moving it down past her waist and to her tail. A board crushed the lower half of her tail, trapping her underwater. It was incredibly heavy. James called for another man to help him, and Gibbs showed up by his side. Together, they heaved the plank away from Merielle.

James snatched her out of the water, carrying her to a dryer area. Tears streaked down her face. He realized she must’ve been in pain, and set her on the floor, crouching down next to her. There was nothing he could do to help her; he hadn’t exactly dealt with injuries to a siren’s tail before.

He grabbed her hand, and she buried her face in his chest in response. He stayed a few minutes before pulling away and motioning that he had to leave. She sniffed, nodding, and he headed back to the pumps. 

He worked until exhaustion claimed him and then some. Once the boards were secured over the gaps and the water was down to their ankles, the crew abandoned pumping and collapsed against support beams.

James stumbled back up to the main deck. Things had calmed down; the storm was passing and the sail was as it was supposed to be. It was a miracle of sorts that things had gone well. James staggered into the captain’s cabin, where he promptly slumped into a chair.

When he awoke, Merielle was in the bed next to him. Bruises colored her shins, but beyond that, she seemed alright. She was fast asleep, stretched out over the sheets. She was much less intimidating while asleep, her hair fanned out over the pillows and across her face.

James stretched and rose from the chair. It hadn’t been a comfortable resting place. He inspected Merielle’s legs from a closer distance, and other than the purple splotches, there was no sign of broken bones. A strand of stray hair lie across her face, tickling her nose. It twitched with her breathing. Without thinking, James gently pushed it back from her features. He flinched after he did it, half expecting the action would wake her. She slumbered on, the steady rise and fall of her chest a reassurance.

James wandered outside. Everyone was sprawled across the deck. Many hadn’t left it from the night before. Food was being passed around, and people laid on their backs facing the sky. Jack sat cross-legged by Gibbs, and he sprung up when James appeared.

“How is she?” It was the most serious James had heard Jack yet.

“I think she’ll be alright. Nothing appears to be broken, but I can’t be sure.”

“Nothing was broken when I last checked, but those bruises will leave her more unsteady than usual.”

“Is there anything we can do about it?”

“We’ll have to be around her at all times. She might need someone to hang onto. And we need to establish a method of communication. She was stuck without your knowledge,” he said. “Not that it’s your fault,” he added hastily.

James couldn’t believe the words were coming out of his mouth. “You’re right. We need to know when she’s in trouble.”

They made a silent agreement to check on her later. James ate, but the question of communication troubled him. He hadn’t worked with mutes before, and hadn’t the slightest idea where to start. They needed to be effective.

Jack walked out of the captain’s cabin with Merielle on his arm. She limped, bracing herself against him, hanging onto his arm. James understood that she couldn’t be carried in front of her crew, but thought she shouldn’t inflict unnecessary pain on herself.

James walked up to them. In a low voice, he asked, “Should I get you a chair?”

She shot him a baleful look, and he thought she might refuse. To his surprise and relief, she nodded.

He took one from his former room and moved it to the quarter deck. Merielle lowered herself into it slowly. When that was done, Jack breached the subject of communication.

“If you don’t mind my saying, your injuries are due to the... trouble we have communicating with you.” He nodded to James, conceding his spot in the conversation.

“I think it would be best,” James began, “if we had a quick method of communication that didn’t involve words.”

Merielle nodded and felt around for her paper. Jack handed some to her; hers being lost in the previous night’s events.

_‘Something fast and easy to understand. Any suggestions?’_

Jack had none, but James, who’d put some thought into it, put forward an idea. “Hand signals. A certain number of squeezes on the other person’s hand or arm has a meaning.”

Merielle mulled it over. It was the best plan they had until they came up with something better, so she shrugged. _‘One squeeze means I need help. Two means I’m fine. A squeeze back means you understand. Two squeezes back means you’ll need assistance helping me, like you did last night.’_

“Alright. It’ll do for now. We’ll have to modify it as time goes on, of course.”

James cleared his throat, and Jack left, apparently satisfied with the situation, though James expected it had more to do with the fact that Jack’s hat was at the mercy of a young boy.

James didn’t want to pry, but he had to ask. “Were you afraid, when I left you to get help?” He whispered.

She didn’t respond at first, and James was afraid he’d overstepped his bounds. He’d never been so forward with a woman before, and certainly not one that he’d known for such a short time.

Slowly, she tore the edge off a slip of paper. He couldn’t see what she was writing on it. She hesitated before handing it to him, and even then she looked like she might regret it.

James almost didn’t want to read it. It was an intrusion of her privacy to ask such a thing. He shouldn’t make her feel vulnerable by asking personal questions. He glanced down.

_‘Yes.’_

He sucked in a breath. When he looked back at her, her expression had hardened again, but she grabbed the edge of her seat with pale knuckles.

He didn’t press the issue further, instead leaving her to her thoughts with a curt nod. He had to assist a few younger boys in tying a complicated knot, which he took as his excuse to excuse himself from Merielle’s presence. He tucked the piece of paper inside his breast pocket. He’d find a more suitable place for it later.

The rest of the day was made of light work. The men did less than usual, and James didn’t blame them. He was sore from the pumps, and had a bruise the size of an apple where he’d hit his knee. It was difficult for him to stretch the joint. He could only imagine how the others felt, working in the sweltering heat, many of them in worse shape than James.

He continued his dueling lessons with the inexperienced fighters, doing his best to teach them how to handle a sword. They were getting better. Jack watched with amusement from the side, snickering at James’ teachings. James didn’t appreciate it in the least, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

The sun dipped behind the ocean like a gold piece falling into the bath. The last few of its rays were strangled, and stars became more prevalent in the darkening sky. It had been agreed upon days beforehand that Merielle was to have the bed, and James and Jack would sleep in hammocks. She had the cabin to herself; it was both for her comfort and privacy. 

She couldn’t walk there on her own, so James went to make himself useful. Jack had the next watch, anyway, so James could help Merielle and get some decent sleep before appearing back on deck.

He extended a hand to her when he got near. “I thought you might want some help getting back to bed.”

She nodded, raising her arms for him to lift her by. Once on her feet, she nearly collapsed. She couldn’t hold herself up properly, even with James’ assistance. Trying to steady herself, she grabbed hold of his shoulder, another hand clinging to his shirt. He adjusted so that he might have her by the waist instead of the arms. Steadier, she pushed away from him a little.

“Are you alright?” He breathed. She was so close to him, his words moved the strand of hair closest to him.

She nodded and pushed herself back to her feet, trying to see if her legs would hold her. They did, but she still held onto him, and him to her. With firm hands about her waist and one arm, he began to walk her across the deck.

Once they reached the stairs, he had no choice but to carry her. He cast her a nervous glance. “Would you let me?” He swallowed. “It would save you unnecessary pain.”

Much to his shock, she let him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he carried her, one hand under her knees and the other under her back. She held herself so that her head was tucked against his chest, and he found it difficult to breathe.

He let her down at the end of the stairs, and helped her from there to her room. When she was safely in bed, he bade her goodnight and moved to leave. She grabbed his hand as he turned.

‘_Thank you_.’ She mouthed.

“O-of course,” came his stuttering reply.

She nodded, and he left, cheeks noticeably redder than they had been before.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which much is learned about James Norrington.

It was in the middle of a training session that James found himself utterly confused as to Merielle’s thoughts about him. It was frustrating; she was cold and detached in public, but she was warmer with him in private. Lately, she’d been kinder to him, but he still didn’t know what terms they were on. As far as he knew, she’d only just opened up to the prospect of having him as an acquaintance. That logic didn’t apply to the fact that she’d been upset over his capture. Thinking about it only made his head hurt.

He’d traced the handwriting on the slip of paper she’d given him a hundred times by candlelight. The word was simple, but there had been much meaning behind it at the time. James found it best to keep it in his breast pocket. He could take it out to look at it whenever he felt like doing so. It was comforting, in a way, to know she was honest with him; perhaps he had a friend.

He mindlessly flowed through fencing forms to teach his new pupils. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jack smiling at him. It was infuriating. James wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off the pirate’s face. When there was a break in training, Jack approached.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“Doing what wrong?” James’ voice took on a defensive tone.

“Teaching.”

“Excuse me?” James wasn’t about to have his authority questioned by some flea bitten, rum soaked, thrice accursed son of a—

“You have to make them experience it. Forms can only do so much. You have to test their mettle.”

James snorted. “And I suppose you’d be much better than me at all this.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“A duel.”

James’ breath caught. The last thing he wanted was to duel the pirate. James felt the hairs prick up on his arms; there was some energy surrounding the pirate told him the man wasn’t what he seemed. It was in a way that made James feel like he didn’t know a piece of information that Jack did, and Jack was taunting him with it. Still, he didn’t want to cross blades.

“Do you think you could beat me?” James tried sounding more confident than he felt.

Jack shrugged. “Do I have to?”

“I accept.”

“I thought you might.”

As the boys went to pick up their swords again, the duelists took their place. The fight wasn’t to the death, of course, but to the disarmament. The men were ten paces apart, staring at the shine of their swords.

“We thought you boys might like a display,” Jack called, “of what a fight might look like.”

With that, it began. They turned, lowering their swords into a ready position. James assumed a defensive position. Jack initiated a series of thrusts that James had little trouble blocking. Feinting to the left, James took the opportunity to whip his blade to the opposite side, nearly catching Jack on the cheek.

Not to be outdone, Jack changed the footwork pattern. They danced in a circle, trying to avoid jabs. Jack lunged out twice, and with great force, because James had a hard time deflecting the blows. Jack was much stronger than James had originally thought.

Blow, parry, blow, parry. The pattern was much too predictable. James couldn’t find a weak point in the pirate’s defenses, but his were just as solid.

Light bounced of Jack’s sword as it flew towards James’ face. James let it pass over his shoulder. At the same time, a gap opened up on Sparrow’s left side, a perfect target. James lunged. As the tip of his sword caught the fabric at Jack’s hip, Jack produced a pistol.

“That’s cheating,” James snapped.

Jack pointed to himself. “Pirate, mate. And you are, too, so you’d better get used to it.”

There was much cheering from the onlookers; it had been a good display of swordsmanship for both sides, lasting the better part of ten minutes. Even Merielle looked down at them from her position on the upper deck. She smiled, perhaps the first genuine smile James had seen out of her, and he felt heat rush to his face.

She’d been better in the past days, and managed to walk alright. She still needed someone with her in case she fell, but the bruises were beginning to fade, if only barely. She was in much less pain, putting the entire crew in better spirits. It was mostly Alice by her side, but James took his turn in helping.

Two days after her injury, Merielle had insisted that she practice walking on her own. At first, she did it only in her cabin, allowing herself to hold onto the backs of furniture. Later, she tried walking on deck. Her legs wouldn’t support her, however, and she’d collapsed. James had caught her and righted her again, and refused to let go of her arm until she reached her seat.

There were many days when they practiced walking together. She wanted to be back at full strength, and insisted that someone help her. With little else to do, James had volunteered, but it also gave him a chance to be around her. She often stumbled, catching onto the front of his shirt. He always made sure that she never hit the deck.

They continued practicing for many days until she made a satisfactory recovery. Even when she could walk on her own, somebody ensured she had a chair to sit in. She was wise enough to use it; she’d abandoned her stubborn nature for the time.

People were in good spirits as they cruised through open waters. The ship cut through the waves like a knife, the only noises being those of the crew and those of the water gently slapping the hull. James hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time. An occasional albatross passed overhead, and James could hear the crew cursing under their breath each time.

He didn’t have much to do in the way of captaining. In fact, he found himself staring absently at the horizon, lost in thought, when a hand fell upon his shoulder. He jumped a little; he hadn’t heard anyone coming, not that he’d been paying any attention.

Merielle stood behind him, an amused expression on her face. Beckoning him with a hand, she led him back to the cabin. There, she pulled a box out from a drawer in the desk. It was made of light wood, and adorned with a swirling pattern glazed on the front. Inside, he found, was a game of chess.

They sat at the table, facing one another. They set up the board, and James found she knew exactly what she was doing. He had never been very good at chess, having little time for it in his youth. Merielle proved to be considerably better than he was. How she learned, he hadn’t the slightest idea.

When she’d beaten him a fourth time, Jack walked into the room.

“There’s a ship on the horizon. You both might want to take a look.”

James helped Merielle out of her chair, though she hardly needed it, and crossed the deck to observe the ship on their stern. Someone handed him a spyglass. His mood darkened; the ship flew British colors. If they engaged in combat, he was sure to be recognized, and things could go quickly south. Unfortunately, the ship had already changed course, heading right towards them.

Jack had read his thoughts. “There’s little you can do but wait this one out, mate. It would be best if you weren’t seen.”

Merielle, too, seemed to encourage the logic, but James knew full well that if he was recognized, word of his work with her wouldn’t hurt his reputation. The others, of course, didn’t know any such thing, and he did his best to hide the fact. He couldn’t have them knowing that it was expected that he be on the _Interceptor._

“I can’t abandon my post,” he argued. “It’s cowardice.”

“It’s not cowardice, it’s common sense.” Alice walked up behind him, looking out over the water.

“I can’t-”

“You can’t, or you won’t? Pride goeth before a fall, Mr. Norrington.”

In this, Alice was right. If he stayed on deck, things could go wrong for him.

He could end up dead, killed by someone from home, or he could end up spared. Both were bad, because if he was spared, someone would say something. He struggled with the thought of fighting his own men. It made him sick at heart to think he’d have to kill any of them to prove his loyalty to Merielle. They were his people, and it was his place to be with them. But it was also his place to obey orders, however hard to follow they may be.

“Will any of my men stay onboard with you?”

“They’re less likely to be noticed,” said Alice.

“But they might be yet. I can’t have their lives torn to pieces, too.”

“They’ve chosen their side.”

“And so have I.”

“Have you?” Alice turned so quickly, James thought she might strike him. She stared him dead in the eye, daring him to deny her claim. Something hard lay within the girl, whose typical joviality would fool any man. James was beginning to see that she was quite the actress.

He hated the thought of sitting in the cabin, doing nothing and being useless. “I can at least work in a cannon crew.” There came no response. His throat was becoming uncomfortably dry. “Please.”

Merielle nodded. The others didn’t oppose her, though Alice cut him a sharp look. It was a reminder; no matter what he did to help them, they knew he had a backup plan, and it didn’t include them. He wasn’t completely loyal.

When everyone was called to arms, James headed deep into the ship’s belly. There, he worked with a combination of his own sailors and pirates to load and fire the cannons. His muscles tired of hefting steel cannonballs. Even when he was sure his arms were on fire, he lifted them into the gaping maw of the cannon, stepping back to let the metal fly out at its target.

From the beginning, the ships hit each other with their steel. Splintering wood impaled the leg of a man too close to James for comfort. The sound was deafening. The impact combined with the noise of the cannons being fired was a great roar through which little could be heard. There was yelling above them; the upper decks were firing at each other with muskets.

James doubted there would be a boarding party. If men were to get across decks, they would use the ropes. The ships were too evenly matched for one to overpower the other, and both sides had enough men to cut away any grappling hooks from the rails.

James was knocked to the ground without warning. He stayed there a moment, his vision blurred white, a loud ringing in his ears. The right side of his body screamed in pain where he’d landed on it. He could barely breathe for fear of hurting himself by moving his chest. His vision slowly returned, becoming dotted with black before adjusting to the scene around him.

The others in his cannon crew were in similar positions. Some lay still while others writhed against the slick wood. Their mouths were moving, but James couldn’t hear them through the ringing, which hadn’t reduced. Feebly, he crawled over to his closest companion.

The boy lay on the floor, a jagged piece of wood sticking up from his thigh. James grimaced. The others had similar injuries, though some looked no worse off than James felt. Others lie motionless. James swallowed bile, his gaze returning to rest on the boy beside him. He was saying something, but it took a few moments for James to recognize what. He had to read the boy’s lips to decipher what he was probably yelling.

Doctor. The boy needed a doctor, and so did many others. They’d taken a blow to their gun ports; many were smashed open. Thankfully, James wasn’t mangled beside his cannon like a poor young man from Tortuga. All that was left of his own gunport was a gaping hole. The cannon had been dented.

James scrambled to his feet. They’d made sure to employ a ship’s surgeon back in Tortuga for their maladies. James scaled the ladder leading to the upper decks on hands and feet. When he came to the small office that had been set up, the man wasn’t there. Another man was in his place, looking after a few others on cots.

“Where is he?” James gasped. He hoped sound had actually come out of his mouth.

If there was a response, James couldn’t hear it. Eventually, the man pointed up with a finger, signaling that the medic was on the top deck. James didn’t waste a second, limping towards the fight. When he reached the stairs, he could hear the fighting above him. Pistols fired and swords clashed, the metal ringing.

He could hear! The revelation made him happy. The ringing in his ears wasn’t so loud anymore, and the noise of fighting was tremendous enough to make it into his ears. Following the noise, he put a hand against the wall to support himself up the stairs.

His head reached fresh air, and his lungs got a shock, used to the foul air belowdecks. The first thing he noticed was the absolute chaos. He’d never been on the side of a battle he was now, observing everything from a low angle. His head was the only thing above the deck level. From there, he could see the bullets flying, the men being stabbed, the blood spilling over the deck. Not focused on his own fight, he took a minute to look around.

The medic was on the other side of the deck, trying to drag a body with him. He hardly needed help, being a burly man from Ireland, but he needed cover. James was armed with a cutlass and pistol, things he’d kept from his time in the navy. Those in hand, he rushed on deck. He barely got two steps before he was engaged by a young man he didn’t recognize.

Seeing the uniform and terrified look on the boy’s face, James couldn’t cut him down. Rushing at him, James flipped his arm so his elbow dug into the boy’s gut. It knocked the wind clear out of the naval officer, and he dropped to the deck.

Farther on, James encountered a larger problem. There stood, just in front of him, was an officer he recognized. The officer recognized him, too. It wasn’t a good sign. James surely couldn’t kill him. The moment passed, and the officer engaged someone else, leaving James to find the doctor. James knew the man had done it on purpose.

He met the doctor half way.

“The gun deck. There’s damage,” James breathed.

They made it down to the lower decks, James covering the medic as he carried the body. They surveyed the gun deck, and James was made to drag bodies to the infirmary. The battle ended soon after. James walked back to the main deck an hour later. He was met by Alice and Merielle, who were giving orders. Neither ship had won; the naval ship had retreated.

“I saw you and that officer,” Alice whispered. “You knew each other.”

James nodded. A sick feeling twisted its way into his gut.

“We learned a lot about you today, James Norrington.” She looked out to the horizon.

A slip of paper made its way into James’ hand. He unfolded it. _‘Mostly that you suck at chess.’ _He had to suppress a laugh. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad between them after all.

Unless she knew.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James learns to dance...Spanish style.

Shore leave had never been so blissful. The side of James’ body was still covered in bruises, and his left ear was still suffering the effects of incessant ringing. It was annoying, always having to turn to the right when he wanted to hear people. The surgeon had assured him it would subside, but he wasn’t convinced. The end couldn’t come fast enough.

The _Interceptor _had docked at a quaint little town in Cuba for supplies. It was part of James’ job to help get them, but he would also be allowed time to enjoy himself. He helped lug things back to the ship, bringing back barrels of water and food. The crew fished from the deck, selling what little they could to afford things.

James found that the pirates were less piratical than he’d originally thought. They made things between watches, little trinkets to sell at the next port. Some made simple jewelry while others made little carvings. These they sold, giving them money they couldn’t get from Jack or Merielle. They took up little jobs; the cook was able to work the evening at a restaurant, and some of the sailors found tasks they could do for the locals. It was fascinating to watch the people he’d spent his life hating, and how different his perception of their lives was from their real ones.

The town was a floral place. On every street corner, old barrels had been converted to giant flower pots. There was a garden plot in every yard, as well as the town square. Bright flowers covered vines that crawled up the sides of pastel painted buildings. The setting was surreal; it had an air of light unreality. It was peaceful; with little noise other than the ocean kissing the shore, and unlike Port Royal, the floral scent wasn’t sickening.

Sun bounced off the sea and the white stones. James could taste the air. It was fresh, with a salty tang from the sea floating on the breeze. He strolled past bakeries and shops lining the streets. Inside, he could see the the wares being sold, and he could smell the confections being made in each restaurant.

Merielle fussed over him as he went to and from the ship, lugging hefty supplies with him. She had insisted that he not lift very much at a time considering the extensive bruising. James duly ignored her. There was little she could do to stop him, but she followed him around, carrying things of her own. James warned her in return, considering her legs. She had made a full recovery, but he still bade her to be careful.

Ignoring each others’ worries, they bought and haggled for supplies. It reminded James of doing chores when he was younger. He’d always hated them, but he didn’t mind supplying the ship. He didn’t have anything else to do, and he didn’t fancy being alone in the streets, watching people enjoying company. For the first time, he didn’t want to be alone.

Much of his life had been spent alone. His father, an admiral in the navy, had been off at sea. His mother had spent time with him, but he was soon sent to the naval academy, and found himself alone there. He had been terrible at making friends as a child. His peers found him too serious, and they all had had friends of their own.

Nothing had changed in all those years, except that he had begun to feel a pang of loneliness. He watched men with their sweethearts walking down the avenue, and he wondered what it might be like. Even watching friends discuss things betwixt themselves gave him a tinge of jealousy. It was something he’d never had, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

When everything was done, James decided to find somewhere to stay that had a decent bed. He had money on him from before, and he wanted to put it to good use. His back was sore from curling up in hammocks. Thus, he found himself directed to a pale pink building by a local boy eager to make a coin.

A woman owned the establishment, and she came out to greet him, broom in hand. He was ushered in and shown a room. It was small, but it would serve. The bed, too, was small, but it would only have to support a single man. A window overlooked the harbor. Sun danced on the waves, and the breeze tussled the palm fronds. Laughter was carried up to his window, as was the faint plucking of guitar strings. Everything seemed beautiful from his place at the window, a simple frame for a simple world.

Nothing could be farther from the truth, but James entertained the fantasy that life could be slow and meandering. For a day, perhaps, it could, but life always returned to the rush it usually was. How he wished to distance himself from it, let his feet leave the floor and float away. Staring out the window, he locked the memory in his mind.

A door opened and closed in the room next to him, bringing him back to reality. Leaving the window, he went to the small bathroom and observed his reflection in the mirror. He had grown a slight stubble, and he wasn’t sure whether to leave it or shave. There was dirt under his fingernails, and that he resolved to dig out, along with scrubbing himself down. His hair needed a good washing.

He toweled off from his bath, stepping back into his clothes. He stretched, passed the window, and opened the door to his room. It was rustic, and though it was white, the paint peeled off at the ridges in the wood.

He quite literally ran into someone. It was Merielle, and she gasped as she hit his chest. He instinctively grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall over.

“Sorry. Are you alright?”

She nodded and stepped back from him.

“Where are you headed?” He asked. If anything, he needed inspiration as to where he should go and what he should do.

She gestured to him, taking two fingers and turning her hand. Wiggling her fingers, it looked like someone was walking. She grabbed a fistful of her skirt next, which James hadn’t noticed until then. It was long, flowing, and white. Lace hung off the hem. She spun once, letting the fabric fan out.

It took James a minute to decipher what she was trying to say. “Dancing?”

She nodded emphatically. There was a smile on her lips that was neither sly nor mocking, a true smile. If James could catch time in a bottle, he would’ve captured the look on her face. The lines of worry and determination had faded, leaving a much calmer woman.

She didn’t have pockets in which to keep paper, so James had to guess by her hand signals what she was saying. He failed many times.

She pointed to him, then to herself, and held her hands as if laying them on a waltzing parter.

“Y-you want me to come with you?”

Nod.

“Alright.” He swallowed.

It was nearly impossible for them to communicate with the barrier. It ended up with James asking yes-no questions, and Merielle would tap him for the answer. Once for yes, twice for no.

“Will we know anyone there?”

Instead of tapping, she shrugged. It was the only other motion he could understand.

“What kind of dancing is this? I’m afraid I’m little good at dancing at all.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“That wasn’t a yes or no question, sorry. Will it be Spanish?”

Tap.

“Have you done it before?”

Tap.

“With Jimenez?”

She shot him a dark look, but she tapped him once anyway. It was probably best that he didn’t bring up the topic again.

The town square was bathed in soft light. Lanterns hung from buildings and were set around the bubbling fountain that sat in the square’s center. Girls hung off the men’s arms, their skirts fluttering around their ankles as they walked. James caught snippets of quiet conversation here and there. People were gathered in small groups to talk, and others were sitting around the fountain. A man with a guitar dipped his hand in the cool water.

The dancing hadn’t yet started, so James and Merielle stood to the side of the gathered. He was spared the awkwardness of conversation- or lack thereof- by the next couple to show up. Walking into the space were two familiar faces. Alice and Theodore Groves walked arm in arm, laughing over some joke between the two of them.

Merielle waved them over. The pair looked like they were happy, but it was Groves who looked the part of the love-struck fool. James let a small smile cross his face. He was glad to see them together, and Groves blushed bright red when he noticed James’ smirk.

“Captain, captain.” He nodded to both of them. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Merielle shrugged, as did James.

“I didn’t expect to be here myself,” James responded, “but here I am.”

“You both look nice,” said Alice, though she only looked at Merielle.

“As do you,” said James. It was true; her hair, shorn short, was brushed back, and she wore a dress. It was probably borrowed from a local, but it was the first time he’d seen her in women’s clothing, and it looked good on her. The lace trim adorning the high collar of her dress tickled her neck, and she wore earrings made of seashells. He had no doubt she’d made them herself.

A loud voice interrupted their little group. A man stood on the edge of the fountain, announcing the dance in Spanish. He bowed and took his leave, and the groups split off into duos. The pairs twirled in time to the beat of the guitar and the drum that had joined him. Shoes tapped against the white cobbles and dresses swirled around the legs of women.

A man sang, the melody carrying over the dancing bodies. Many of the people joined in, and it became a merry gathering of people. It was so unlike England; the color and vibrancy, along with the song and dance. The culture was richer than what James was used to.

He watched, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be dancing. Glancing over, he saw that Groves looked as intimidated as he felt; neither of them knew what they were doing. Alice was the first to join the dancing, pulling Groves right after her. She twirled like the natives. James wondered about her; where she was from and how she knew all she did.

A light tug on his hand alerted him to Merielle’s impatience. She was smiling again. James found it hard to keep her waiting.

“I have to warn you again, I’m a terrible dancer,” he said.

His words were lost as they entered the crowd of twirling bodies. She had to teach him what he was doing, and she was clearly enjoying herself. He remembered how little she knew about sailing, and how she had asked for his help. Now, it was her turn to be the teacher.

James had helped her learn some basic things about a ship, and all the things that a captain had to do to keep it running. He showed her different knots, sail positions, and how to keep track of their hypothetical payroll. She knew surprisingly little about sailing for living on the sea her entire life, but he supposed she’d spent it underwater rather than above.

In turn, she taught him where to put his feet and hands during the dance. He was stiff and rather uncoordinated, but she looked to be having a good time anyway. She twisted and twirled, ducking under his arm, and her skirts flew out around her. The caramel light shone on her dark hair, and her eyes sparkled.

At no point in James’ life had someone romanticized brown eyes. Blue eyes were like the sea, and green eyes were forests within people, but brown eyes were never mentioned in the list of beautiful features. Yet as James gazed, a fire danced in the pools of Merielle’s eyes. They became dripping honey and the sweet smell of earth, and in them there shone a light like the sun.

He was sure she would be laughing if she had the capability, but instead she smiled, and that was enough. Somehow, through some saving grace, his body remembered how to move as his mind was hopelessly lost. That his dizziness had come from the dance or his own thoughts, he couldn’t tell.

The initial dance ended. The pair ended up winded, breathing heavily. Merielle had twirled so that she was grabbing his arm, and him hers. Thus, they stood side by side, only connected at the hand, staring at each other with arms outstretched. A bead of sweat dripped down James’ forehead.

Another dance was taken up. It was slower, and not so physical, but it was beautiful. The singer was the owner of the place at which James and Merielle stayed. She crooned a melody, her voice gently enveloping the night air. Merielle was much closer to James during this one, and they swayed together.

The following songs were upbeat. In one, they switched partners every minute or so, and James found himself dancing with an assortment of people, one of whom was Alice. She wore a smirk.

“I see you’ve been enjoying yourself,” she commented.

James flushed, from his chest to the tips of his ears. “For the record,” he said once he’d found his voice, “so have you.”

“Ah, maybe, but at least I can admit it. You, on the other hand, are going to have a hard time keeping your feelings secret for long.”

_Feelings? _“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

They were swept away from each other again, and James was soon reunited with the dark haired siren.

The last song of the night was slow, as people were tired from the previous dances. Many of the crew could be seen among the crowd, hands around the waist of a woman. James could only hope they hadn’t noticed him, but there was little doubt that they had.

Merielle was so close to James that they were touching. The song wore on, and they found themselves chest to chest, her head hovering above his left shoulder. His body shuddered at the contact, but neither did he pull away. That she chose to stay so close set his heart to the pace of a racehorse. They swayed slowly, her arms wrapped around his neck, his about her waist.

The dance ended, and she held on a few moments before pulling away. They said their bleary goodbyes to Alice and Groves. It was late in the night, and the stars were firmly set in a black sky. Merielle yawned silently. James wanted to as well; he was tired, and his feet hurt from all the dancing, not to mention the standing his job required.

Ascending the stairs to their separate rooms, Merielle smiled at him. They reached their respective doors, and she mouthed a thank you. To this he smiled back.

“Of course.”

Too tired to do anything else, they stumbled into their beds, falling asleep on opposite sides of the same wall.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the group acquires a certain witch.

Light filtered through the flimsy curtain pulled over the window. James stretched and yawned, releasing the pillow that had been trapped under his arm. It had been pressed to his chest for the majority of the night. He tried not to think of how much he missed the contact he’d had with Merielle and the warm feeling that’d come with it.

The feeling brought him to another troubling matter. What Alice had mentioned about his feelings for Merielle. He couldn’t care about her as more than a friend- he couldn’t afford to. If he cared about her, he wouldn’t be able to do his job. The thought of carrying out the task grew increasingly distressing. Could he really betray her? Did he have the heart to be the _second_ person to take advantage of her?

And yet he found his eyes lingering on her frame longer than they should. The feeling of her touch lingered on him even now, where her hands had been resting on his chest. The memory of her smile brought a sigh to his lips and heat to his cheeks. And he still fingered the piece of paper in his pocket when he thought of her. But he had to resist; any feelings he might have for her would only distract him, and he needed his focus more than anything.

He plunged his face in the cool water of the washbasin. It was no good to think of things when not yet properly awake. No, it would be better to think after he’d eaten. He threw on a clean shirt- it was much too hot to sleep in one- and made his way downstairs to dine. He was met by the owner of the establishment, but not Merielle, and he found it likely that she was still abed.

He was more than thankful for the fruits set out on the table. At sea, the men didn’t get much in the way of fresh food. Fruit was scarce, and what they had they ate quickly for fear of mold. The acidic fruits kept scurvy at bay, and fruit in general was delicious.

Breakfast done, he returned to his small room, his cot groaning under his weight when he sat down. He amused himself by staring out the window at the small children playing a sort of ball game in the street below him. What it was to be a child he well knew, but at his age, he was more concerned about his role as a father.

He was interrupted by a light tapping at his door. Merielle stood in the doorframe, ready as ever, dressed again in men’s clothes. She held a large piece of paper with quite a bit of writing that she slipped into James’ hand before sitting next to him.

_‘I’m afraid we have to leave. Not only are our supplies onboard our ship, but I have found someone with information I need. She is a witch of some sort. Remember that my voice was bound to an item. I need to know how to reverse this effect. It is important to me._

_ You and Jack are to accompany me. I know little of magic and its workings. I may very well need protection, and I shall certainly need someone whom I can trust. Again, I like to think that between the two of you, you can be reliable. This may be dangerous, so I want security.’_

“I don’t blame you,” said James. “I’m not too keen on meeting this witch myself. I wasn’t aware this would be how I was spending my day.”

_‘Sorry.’_

“Don’t be. I’m at your disposal, after all.”

At this, she smiled. James had a hunch that she liked whatever power she had over him. If only she knew.

They took to the streets, and were soon joined by Mr. Sparrow, who was no doubt absolutely hungover. He burped a few times as James filled him in on the situation. All he’d known was that Merielle needed him, and nothing beyond that.

“It might take us some time to locate this witch,” said Jack. “Unless you’ve met her in person?”

Merielle shook her head. She hadn’t.

“Do you know where to find her?”

She shrugged, and Jack looked to James for confirmation.

“I believe she means to convey that she has some idea, if not a definite one. She at least knows where to start. I’d like to know where she got her information, and whether it can be relied upon.”

Another shrug. A smile played at her lips, and as annoyed as James was by her vague answers, he couldn’t be mad. She was joking with them; he had little doubt that she knew exactly what she was doing.

They walked up and down streets, winding through alleys into the early afternoon. Merielle stopped in numerous shops, slipping the same piece of paper to multiple shopkeepers. Many said nothing, but even those who did knew a scant amount. The witch they were trying to locate evaded the locals. Some professed their undying hate for the woman and how she deserved to by hung, while others spoke of her like a saint. The majority admitted that the general population condemned her as a witch and would likely hang her if they saw her.

There was little chance of finding her within the city. Cuba was too large an island to search. They could only hope to find her nearby, and judging by local rumors, nearby was too close for comfort. Locals claimed to see her dancing at night in the ocean, collecting water and carving runes onto stones.

They were pointed in the general direction of her rumored abode. The walked the dusty path out of the city, watching the white buildings grow smaller behind them. By noon, they had hiked along with no promise as to finding a thing.

“She can’t live too far outside the village. Think; she has to get her food from some source, along with water. She must buy clothing, and she has to sell in order to get money. She’ll be living close to the village, but she’ll be hidden,” James pointed out

It took another hour for them to find the entrance to her abode. A path trampled down in the grass let them know that their destination was near. At the end of the small trail, they found themselves along a shady section of shoreline. Trees blocked the sun from entering, its rays falling errantly over the ground.

A house manifested in the dimness. It was connected to a tree, the side of the house built to follow the contours of the tree’s trunk. Little windows sat on either side of the door, candles burning in each of them. To James, it was like the house a faerie might live in, one of the sprites out of Scottish lore.

They cautiously approached. A line of string seemed to run from outside the house through a crack in the door. To this was attached many bells. James had the impulse to pluck the string, but refrained from doing so. Instead, he peaked through the crack in the side of the door to see what he might.

Directly on the other side of the door was a table and chairs. Things hung from the ceiling, that much he could tell, but what objects they were he couldn’t see. A cage sat in one corner, a feathered bird perching crookedly inside it. There were other rooms, and James found that the house spiraled back to match the curve of the tree. The house itself was like a giant apostrophe.

He could tell nothing more, other than that it was dark. Stepping back from the door, he saw that Merielle and Jack had taken up places at the windows, peering into the gloom. If they discerned anything from their findings, they didn’t show it.

“I don’t like this,” James said. “It’s...”

“Eerie, mysterious, dark, and otherwise foreboding?” Jack offered.

“Yes.”

Merielle shrugged. She tapped on the door, which swung inward. It had been open from the beginning of course, and James didn’t like the implications, of which there were two. Either the witch was home and didn’t mind visitors, or she wanted them to make themselves comfortable whilst plotting their demise.

She cautiously stepped into the dark house. Lanterns lit the inside, but their faint glow did little to illuminate the space. Something moved further inside the house. There was the sound of a chair scraping against wood and soft footfalls. A doorway blocked their view of whoever might be inside.

Long, bony finger wrapped around the doorframe. Out stepped a woman with long hair and dark skin. Circular tattoos sat under her eyes forming the shape of crescent moons on her cheeks. A smirk split her face, and her ragged dress revealed her ankles and the tops of her shins.

“So, Jack Sparrow, we meet again.” Her voice sent shivers running down James’ spine.

All eyes turned to Jack.

“Tia Dalma.” Jack noticeably swallowed. It didn’t give James a confident feeling. “What are you doing here? I thought you liked your swamp.”

“I did. But there are people who insist on pestering me, and I needed somewhere to hide.”

“You’ve done a good job of it! We nearly missed you.”

“Hmm.” She frowned. “Who is it you’ve brought with you?”

“This is Merielle,” he gestured to her, “and this is, ah, Captain Norrington.”

“A siren and a soldier.” The woman grew closer, letting a hand trail over Merielle’s face. “I can see the vengeance in your eyes, child. They have taken something from you and you no longer feel whole.” She turned abruptly, shifting her attention to James. “You, there is something about you.” She leaned into him, uncomfortably close, her smile widening. “You are destined for something.”

James wasn’t sure where to look. He glanced at Merielle for help, but she did nothing, and Jack only watched with a grimace. He finally turned his attention to the floor.

Tia Dalma stepped back. “But that is not the reason for your visit. Come, tell me what you want.”

“We need you to tell us how to lift an enchantment,” said Jack.

“Oh?”

“Merielle’s voice is locked in a necklace. If anyone knows how to undo it, it’s you.”

“And what makes you think I will give that information up? I need payment, this you know.”

Jack’s nose twitched. “If I had known I would be dealing with you, I would’ve brought some, but seeing as I didn’t...”

“Every witch demands payment, Sparrow. You know this well.”

Jack faltered, offering nothing more.

Voices near the house made everyone turn to the door.

“You were followed,” the witch hissed. “I am not the most beloved woman in these parts.”

“Yes, yes, I know that, but I didn’t know we’d been followed! Damn.” Jack was growing increasingly more frustrated by the second.

The group stood dumbly. James felt like they should be doing something, but what was there to do? They awaited discovery. James couldn’t afford for them to die, nor be imprisoned. He needed the compass, and he needed the locket. The only way to get those things was to escape, but nobody was intent on it.

Inevitably, people found the house. They were armed men, cutlasses hanging from their hips and pistols drawn. they eyed the group with unease.

“We’ve been looking for you a long time, witch woman.” One said. “We know what you can do, but please, come without a fight.”

“Now, let’s not be hasty. It’s a misunderstanding. This poor, widowed woman lives in misery, and we were just stopping by to-”

A bullet whizzed past Jack’s ear before he could prattle any further. James drew a pistol of his own in response, but Jack was faster. He put a hole in the man’s chest before James could so much as draw the hammer back on his own weapon.

When Jack had shot two people and James had shot one, Jack pulled Tia Dalma by the arm out the door. James and Merielle followed suit, dashing out the door and around the side of the house. They ran through the underbrush, clothes snagging on twigs. A branch hit James in the face. A thin line of blood trickled down his left cheek.

“How quickly,” James panted, “can we muster the crew?”

“Quickly!” Jack responded.

They were back in town before they knew it, crouching low behind a white, waist-high wall. They were sorely out of breath, and James regretted not exercising more outside of work. Tia Dalma wrenched her hand out of Jack’s grip.

“I cannot believe you, Jack. You are not usually so careless.”

Jack played it off, but James saw in his eyes that the comment had stung more than Jack wished to admit.

“How do you two know each other?” James asked.

“It’s a long story,” Jack responded.

“I have no doubt.”

It was then that Gibbs stumbled upon them. “Jack! What are you doing down there? And who’s- Ms. Dalma! It’s good to see you!” Despite his words, his face spoke ever contrarily. Gibbs looked no more pleased to see the witch than a mouse might a hungry cat.

“Gibbs, please gather the crew. We’ll meet you back on the _Interceptor.”_

“What have you... I’d better not ask.”

With that, Gibbs left, and the quartet jogged in the direction of the harbor. A bell peeled somewhere within the city. James had the sinking feeling they wouldn’t make it to the ship before they were seized.

Men in dark uniforms swarmed out from streets to the group’s left and right. The group’s pace quickened, and they were soon hurtling across the stone cobbles. Shouts echoed off the walls behind them, urging them on. In a disturbing way, it was like a fox hunt, and it was their hides that would be skinned.

They rounded the corner of a street, the pier extending out on the water before them. On the pier, unfortunately, was a group of unhappy soldiers armed to the teeth. A four on twenty fight didn’t seem fair. James aimed his pistol at the nearest man.

His worries were unnecessary. A rolling crack erupted across the water, and a large portion of the pier splintered to pieces under the men’s feet. It was the work of a cannonball. From the deck of the _Interceptor_, two faces peeked above the rails. Groves and Alice smiled at the quartet, beckoning them aboard.

James didn’t need further prompting. Taking Merielle’s hand, he sprinted to the ship. The four were up the gangplank and on deck before the rest of the confused army-men had time to react.

Most of the crew was already on the ship, but those that weren’t came in quickly. They rushed past the remaining soldiers. The ship was quickly underway, and Jack shouted from the deck.

“We’re doing you a great favor by taking this witch away from you! You should be thanking us!” Turning to Tia Dalma, he said, “Consider this your payment.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tia Dalma does a reading, and Merielle looks for friends among pirates.

Where they were going, James didn’t know. He could only tell that they were fleeing Cuba. How they would find Jimenez was a mystery to him, but the faster they did, the better. James couldn’t wait much longer to be off the _Interceptor _and back in Port Royal. The longer he was on the ship, the more nervous he became. Someone would find him out eventually.

Jack and Merielle stood at the helm. They had spoken to Tia Dalma, and she had confirmed that once the locket was had, she could lift the curse. The process sounded long and tedious, and James hoped it would give him the chance he needed. His only hope was to snatch the locket while it was out of the hands of anyone onboard. If the witch was working on it, he figured she’d have it in a room with her, not necessarily on her.

At the helm, Jack pulled out a compass. James watched the needle wander aimlessly around. At first glance, he thought it broken, but Jack placed in Merielle’s hands. Instantly, the needle pointed Northeast. James suppressed a gasp.

“Why did it do that?” He asked.

“It shows you what you want most, mate. And right now, our dear siren wants her voice back. Or vengeance, but both things lead us in the same direction. Now, we have our heading.”

James’ eyes widened at that. He had seen the compass hanging at Jack’s side, but he hadn’t had the faintest idea of why Beckett might want it. He understood, then, why. If the compass showed a man what he wanted most, he could always find it. Such an item was powerful to have.

“Tia, love,” Jack called. “I’d like to know how this will all play out. Would you do your...” here Jack made some obscure hand movements.

The witch nodded. From a pouch hanging on her dress, she produced a set of stones and bones carved with indecipherable runes. She sat on deck, and Jack sat across from her. James watched curiously over his shoulder, Merielle by his side.

The assortment of items was cast over the deck. Some had runes carved on different sides so they meant different things when they were flipped. To James, it was a whole lot of nonsense, and he understood none of it. The woman sat muttering for several moments. Though he was interested, James was also uneasy. He liked the thought of magic as much as the next sailor, which was to say, not at all.

Suddenly, Tia Dalma seemed to come to something conclusive. “There will be pain.” She said. “There will be hard choices, and there will be betrayal.” She looked up, her gaze meeting James’.

James swallowed. If anyone else had noticed, they didn’t show it.

“Someone will break their word.” Tia tapped a bone, a jagged symbol cut into the edge. “But there will also be good. Something will come from this venture that was not sought for in the beginning. Ah, but we will only know for sure in the end what will become of us all.” 

Her eyes traveled over each person in turn. A chill crept down James’ spine. He was sure that she could read his thoughts, and if not, she was a mighty good guesser. His palms sweat despite his attempts to calm himself. There was little he could do; his nerves were frayed. Would she give him away, or would he give himself away before she could?

“Yes, but will we win?” This was Jack, looked at Tia with a fake smile.

“Who said anything about winning?” She cocked her head. “There will be winning and there will be losing, as it always is and always will be. We do not ever ‘win’.”

Looking around, nobody knew what she meant. Why did witches have to be so blasted confusing? James internally cursed. Of course he wanted to know if the locket would be retrieved, it was the only way of winning back his life, but would he get to it? And would he get it to Beckett? And what about the compass? There was too much to think about.

The witch gathered up her things. She sauntered down the stairs to the main deck, where she was greeted with suspicious glances. Alice was most receptive of her, and the two talked by the rails. James watched them, and Tia pulled out her bag again. They sat as she had before with Jack, and they did their own casting.

“Just how did you meet that woman?” James asked. Jack stood beside him, watching the same scene. Merielle had moved on to other things.

“It was a long, long time ago.” Jack sighed. “I’ve had her help in many tight spots; I don’t want to think of what I owe her. Probably my soul.”

James wasn’t sure if he was joking.

“In any case,” Jack continued, “it was her that gave me the compass. And many other things besides...”

James didn’t want to analyze the meanings of his words. When he did, he flushed around the collar.

“But she is a strange being, Captain. She’s one of the more dangerous people I know, and that’s saying a lot, because I know Blackbeard.”

James raised his eyebrows. Jack said nothing more, leaving James’ question unanswered. There was something abut both of them, an air of mystery and of cunning. James had the sinking suspicion that they knew more than he’d like them to. 

“That’s the past.” Jack’s words brought him out of his reverie. “And this is now. And now, I want a drink.”

James could’ve used a drink himself, but he instead wandered down to the deck below. Little was happening besides daily work. Intent to learn more about the witch, he strode over to Alice, who seemed to be chewing on a new piece of information.

“Alice,” he said. She stared right through him, though she obviously knew he was there.

“Yes?”

“What did Ms. Dalma show you?”

Alice became defensive, her eyes focusing. “Why do you want to know?”

“I only want to learn what I can about her. I didn’t mean to ask about something personal.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” She took a deep breath and sighed theatrically. “She said I’d meet someone I knew before, though I haven’t the slightest idea what she meant.”

James could tell that Alice certainly knew the meaning of the words, but he didn’t press.

“She said I’d be correct about something of which I didn’t know the full scope. That I really can’t guess. And she said I’ll create something beautiful. I don’t think any of these things will happen in the near future; I didn’t ask about our mission. I trust you did that.”

“Jack did, but yes. And I gleaned nothing. Her predictions are nonsense. I didn’t understand any of them.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. He had, of course, understood one of the signs loud and clear.

“Oh well. I’m not sure she means for us to understand until they happen, and then we can hit our heads with our palms and ask ourselves why we didn’t see things coming.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

James let his mind wander, watching the waves roll across the flat ocean. The sun warmed his face. He ran a hand through his hair, a true pleasure. In the navy, he’d always worn his wig, but he forsook it while serving Merielle. All the naval officers had, opting to tie their natural hair back.

The sea was light green, the light glancing off the surface and the spray misting up over the waves. Seagulls flapped about overhead, signifying that they were close to land again. They cut through the water like a giant sea snake wiggling its way over a reef in search of prey. And search for prey they did. A ship much larger than they were and with much more power behind its cannons. The thought turned James’ mood sour.

When he next saw Merielle, he approached her. He stood beside her, eyes pointed to the pale blue sky, hands clasped behind his back. “May I speak openly?” He asked.

She nodded, and he couldn’t tell if she was worried or suspicious.

“I find fault in the fact that we’re chasing a ship three times the size of this one. It’s folly to think we could take it alone. We don’t have anywhere near the power.”

Merielle pulled out her paper pad. _‘What makes you think we’re chasing Jimenez right now? I’d thought of it already, of course. I’m no fool.’_

“And who are we going to for help?”

_“There are two places we can find it. Jack has friends among pirates; acquaintances, rather, that might help him. We may also have help from my own sisters.’ _Seeing James’ surprise, she wrote, _‘There are others in these waters. You couldn’t think I was alone.’_

“I’m not well versed in the dwellings of sirens, nor of mer-people, nor of any other being from common legend.”

_‘Looks like you’d better learn.’_

A ship appeared on the horizon. The sails were white, and the ship itself was a nice, light wood. James could only tell these things when he looked through a spyglass, despite the fair weather, because the sun shone directly from the back of the other ship, giving the naked eye but a silhouette. It drifted through the waters on no apparent course, heading across the waters with little urgency. When they were closer, James could see a French flag flying.

Their own crew rushed to replace their British flag. They flew it to ensure they wouldn’t be attacked by the navy. It worked well; so far, nobody had noticed that the ship was in fact the _Interceptor,_ though they had passed a few naval ships, but from a distance. Thus, they hadn’t been spotted and attacked.

The British flag came down fast, quickly replaced by a black one. On it was embroidered a simple skull and crossbones. Clearly, it hadn’t been made by the best of weavers, and James was sure it had been someone from the crew. Perhaps it had been Alice, for she was the one he guessed to have the most experience sewing.

The flag went up, and the other ship acknowledged it almost immediately. Their French flag was taken down, and another skull was hoisted up. This one was much like their own, save for the small hourglass beneath the skull. James might have recognized it anywhere. The flag was that of Emanuel Wynn, a notorious French pirate yet to be caught. The captain was one of the terrors of the Caribbean.

The man had once attacked the coasts of the Carolinas, but soon found the more profitable southern waters to be to his liking. He was old, and it was rumored that he was the first to fly the Jolly Roger, as it had been named. James wasn’t sure if meeting him was an honor, or if he should feel a deep set hatred for the man who had eluded justice for so long.

The ships were alongside each other within the hour. Jack yelled across from the _Interceptor _in greeting. Hollers came back, the loudest of which coming from, James presumed, Wynn himself. James had always wondered what the most infamous pirates looked like. Sure, Mr. Sparrow was well known among officers and citizens alike, but he was nowhere near Blackbeard or Bartholomew Roberts. Wynn was on the list of famed pirates, having been successfully active for a long period of time.

Wynn was a short man, by anyone’s standards. It was the first thing James noticed, as it was the most shocking. He looked old and worn, but happy enough, smile lines around his mouth. His attire was lacy, but he didn’t have the over-the-top flamboyance of Jimenez. he looked, to James, like a friendly person, the sort to have a drink with. That was, until one took into account the pistols strapped to his chest or the dangerously long cutlass swinging from his hip.

Jack hopped between the two ships like a cat, balancing on the _Interceptor_’s rail and leaping over to the Frenchman’s vessel. Boards were secured an instant later so the crews might have the chance to mingle. Most of Wynn’s crew spoke nothing but French, and it was the job of the naval men to translate. Some of the officers had learned the language as children. James had, too, and he understood much of what was being said.

He was intent on seeing what Sparrow was up to. The pirate wasn’t the only captain on their ship. James needed to know what agreement the two would come to. If they were to work together, they might have a fair chance of defeating the Spaniard, but James didn’t know what the bargain would include.

James walked up behind them after the conversation had started.

“I would like to ask for your assistance in my next endeavor,” said Jack, shoulder to shoulder, or at least shoulder to upper arm, with Wynn. They looked out over both decks. They might have known each other, or known of each other, but they half expected some sort of foul play.

“And what might this entail?”

“I’d like to team up and take down a Spanish ship. A real beauty, with dark wood and wine colored sails. There’ll be money for all, not to mention, you could add a ship to your collection. Commodore Bartholomew Wynn, eh?” Jack gestured to the man. “I can see it now mate.”

Wynn laughed. “You’re trying to sell me something. Besides, you’ve never been in it for the treasure only, Sparrow. I know you well enough by now to know. What’re you really after?”

“Ah...nothing out of the ordinary. But I don’t want the ship. I have a nice little one of my own, see?” 

“You’re good at avoiding questions, I’ll give you that. But you say this man has gold?”

“Yes,” said Jack reproachfully. “And lots of it, bastard. He’s run the whole Caribbean out of it.”

“I see.” Wynn scratched his long, red beard. “And how well is he armed?”

“Well...” Jack faltered.

“Eighty guns.” James stepped up, deciding to be a part of the conversation rather than watching it.

“Oh? And who’s this?” Wynn eyed James over, which was hard for him to do, considering his stature compared to James’ own.

“This,” Jack’s nose twitched, “is James. He’s new.”

Wynn looked between the pair as they shot daggers betwixt each other. “Eighty guns against, let’s see, forty eight?” Wynn whistled. “That’s a hard fight. Still, I’ve encountered worse.”

“I’m sure you have,” said Jack. “Now what do you say? To money?”

“To money! But just who is it that we’re fighting? Have I heard of him?”

“Perhaps,” said Jack. “A Captain Jimenez?”

Wynn’s eyes widened. “Jimenez?” He swallowed. “Now, Jack, you know me. I don’t back down from a fight, but to pit myself against that man would be to offer my soul to the devil himself! Jimenez is a fight I won’t take on, and one I advise you not to.”

“Why?” James asked.

“Why? Because he shows no quarter, that’s why. He’s a merciless, conniving, backstabbing bastard. He can have his gold for all I care. I don’t want to be on his list.”

“His list?” This was Jack.

“You haven’t heard? He hunts down every last man who’s ever tried to fight him and puts a sword through their gut. Why, he blasted a British ship to bits not too long ago!”

James bristled but tried not to show it.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I can’t help. But the best of luck to you, whatever you’re trying to get ahold of now.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the group finds an unlikely ally.

Muffled voices came from inside the cabin. James had been going to talk to Jack and Merielle, but the cabin doors were shut. The voice within was so soft, he automatically knew the conversation was not for his ears. Despite that, he listened at the door. He dared not interrupt.

The fact that there was but one voice speaking alerted James to the fact that Merielle had to be on the other side of the conversation, and the door. The voice had the unmistakably thick accent Tia Dalma spoke with. Of what they said, James hadn’t the slightest idea. He stood a hair’s width away from the door, trying to make out what was being said.

“And you swear to it? You will do this for me? For if you don’t...”

There was a muffled scratching noise. The sound of pen on paper, James assumed.

“I expect you to uphold your side of the bargain. But in this I will help you.”

The witch’s footfalls grew louder as she approached the door, and James had to jump back from it so he wasn’t hit when it swung out. She glanced at him, eyes narrowing with suspicion, before heading across the deck and down into the hold.

Jack came up behind him. James allowed him into the room first, quietly shutting the door after himself. There was a moment where the three of them stared at each other, nobody willing to speak first.

James sighed. “What do we do now? Your ‘friends’ have failed us, Mr. Sparrow, and we are alone in our endeavor.”

“I have other friends.” Jack took a defensive stance. “We’ve only tried one option.”

“And will we have better luck with any other pirates? Your lot doesn’t seem like the loyal type.”

Jack’s face darkened.

Before things could get worse, Merielle stepped between them. She shook her head. _‘We will go talk to my sisters. They will help us.’_

James passed the paper to Jack, who couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable while reading it. “Merielle,” James began, “how exactly will they help us? They don’t have a ship with which to fight.”

_‘They have teeth, claws, and a song that’s lured many men to their deaths. They can seduce as many men overboard as we could kill.’_

James nodded. “Even so, don’t you think Jimenez has taken precautions against such a thing happening? He might be expecting it.”

Merielle frowned, but wrote nothing.

“On a more important note,” said Jack, “how do we get close to them without, ah, being eaten?”

He made a good point, James thought. How _were_ they supposed to ask for the siren’s help? Surely their song would lure the crew to their deaths.

_‘You forget that I am one of them. I will swim ahead and tell them not to attack your ship.’_

“And will they trust you?” James regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.

Merielle shook with anger. _‘How dare you?’_

“Forgive me. I’m only asking with your best interests in mind. I want to know that the plan will work.”

_“I was forgiven long ago for my sins.’_

“I believe you.” James’ voice was horse. “I only want to see you succeed.”

She stared at him for a long time. James was afraid she might strike him, but he wouldn’t flinch if it came. He deserved it. How could he question her like that? But deep within, an awful part of him thought that she might not have deserved forgiveness from her people.

He chastised himself. Nothing more happened, because someone burst into the room at that very moment, breathless and looking quite scared.

“Sirs! Ma’am! There’s a ship out there, and it’s gaining on us fast!” The boy was one from James’ crew, a child of perhaps thirteen, with twig-like appendages and an owlish face.

“What colors is she flying?” Asked Jack.

“None, sir. Her sails are all black, sir.”

Jack released a tirade of impressive expletives, many of which James figured the pirate had invented himself, and possibly on the spot. He rushed out of the cabin, James and Merielle close behind.

“Put up the Jolly Roger! Turn this damn ship around!” Jack hollered at the crew, who quickly hopped to. They hand’t heard him yell, including James. The pirate was usually very calm about giving orders. “I’m not letting that thrice-accursed-son-of-a-bitch-what stole-my-ship make me walk the plank again!”

Another string of curses spewed forth, and even Gibbs looked concerned. Jack sprinted to the helm, taking hold of the wheel himself. The ship creaked and groaned as the wheel spun wildly in the pirate’s hand, forcing the ship to turn about. The other ship didn’t slow its relentless chase. It only gained speed as it flew towards them.

The _Interceptor _was fast, the fasted ship in the Caribbean, or so James had been told. But whatever demon of a ship was chasing them was faster. The crew’s best efforts did little; they were caught within a matter of minutes. James could only look on and stare as the ship, much larger than the _Interceptor_, loomed over them.

There wasn’t even a fight. They were boarded by a rough looking group of men, all of which gave James the impression that there might not be many survivors. A tall black man held a sword to James’ throat. James stared at him in contempt.

The captain didn’t help James’ bad feeling. Whatever dealings Jack had with him in the past, James couldn’t guess. The men were complete opposites. Where Jack acted harmless, this man did not. A shiver ran down James’ spine upon seeing him. Something about the man, and the ship, felt cursed.

The captain had a long, scraggly beard. His clothes weren’t out of the ordinary, but he had a screeching monkey perched on his shoulder like the devils depicted whispering into the ears of the innocent. Except that the monkey didn’t whisper, and the captain looked far from innocent. He stepped down the gangplank and onto the deck, forcing James to look up at him. As his feet hit the _Interceptor, _he took a large bite out of an apple, the juices running down his face and beard.

Never before had James felt so repulsed by a person. The pirate’s wicked eyes slithered their way across the deck, taking in his prey. A vein in James’ forehead twitched. He wasn’t about to be a prisoner again, not after knowing how he’d be treated. Indeed, he would rather pitch himself overboard, or perhaps onto the sword in front of him. He could tell many of the naval men wanted the same.

The captain swaggered his way to Jack, who was held in place with a man on each arm. The captain looked him over, eyes scanning from his boots to his headscarf.

“What be ye doing captainin’ a British vessel, Jack?” he asked.

“I’m not captaining. The captain, if you’d like to speak with him, is right over there.” Jack inclined his head to where James stood.

Never in their time together had Jack acknowledged James as a captain, though they both gave orders in Merielle’s place. James bristled, glaring with all the hatred he could muster at the pirate.

“I find that hard to believe, Jack. You never liked giving up that title.”

“I guess I found someone more suited to it.” The pirate gave one of his fake smiles, nodding at the other man.

With that, the other captain stalked over to James. “And who are you?”

“James. James Norrington,” he answered briskly.

“You have quite the diverse crew, _Captain_ Norrington. It’s not common to find so many naval officers in a pirate’s crew.”

“Perhaps some of us had a change of heart.” The words left a bitter aftertaste in James’ mouth.

The captain straightened up. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Jack, but I’ll find out. To the brig with them!”

James was shoved roughly foreword. Only the officers were lead to brig, the others allowed to stay onboard under careful watch, the constant threat of guns pointed their way. James was half dragged down the stairs of the larger ship, its black sails flapping overhead.

Behind bars once again, the growing knot in his stomach threatened to choke him. He stumbled into the cell, grabbing onto the bars to keep himself upright. Merielle was shoved in right after him. He caught her before she could hit the ground. It took every fiber of his being not to grab onto the guard and pull him against the bars as a warning. Unfortunately, he doubted things would go well for either him or Merielle if he did.

Jack, of course, was dragged down with them. He lay limp between two men, his boots scuffing against the floor. For a moment, the dim light deceived him, and James thought the pirate might very well be dead, or at least unconscious. However, he straightened up upon being shoved towards the cell.

“I don’t fancy being in here, mate. If you could just-”

Jack was briskly interrupted by a push in the back. It sent him sprawling into the cell, and James pulled Merielle out of the way so that the pirate wouldn’t topple her over.

“You could’ve caught me,” Jack groaned.

The three captives silently stared at each other. There was nothing they could do about their predicament. Nobody would come down to save them, and they had little hope of saving themselves. They could only wait. Either they’d be left to rot or they wouldn’t.

Hours later, a light streamed into the dark. It was faint, only an imitation of daylight, but the bobbing candle brought more hope to James than he liked to admit. It was the tall black man, on closer inspection, carrying a lantern down to the dimness. He wore a deep scowl, and though James hardly liked seeing him, he did like the ring of keys on the man’s belt.

The cell door opened, and they were taken up to a cabin. It was lavishly decorated with dark, wine colored drapery and a chandelier hanging from the center of the room. A table sat there, a small banquet set out for four. The captain was already sitting in one chair, and he motioned for the rest to copy.

The trio sat awkwardly. Only Jack had any idea of what was going on, that James knew. Silverware sat on the table, perfectly polished, and dishes laden with food. James was unsure whether to eat or not; on the one hand, things could be poisoned. On the other, abstaining from the meal might offend the captain.

His question was answered as the man spoke. “I like to keep things civil on this ship. Ye can eat what ye like. It’s not poisoned, if ye’d believe me.” He grinned, a truly unsettling picture, and began to eat food of his own.

James prodded the food on his plate with a fork, timidly taking a bite. Merielle did much the same. Jack picked up an apple, sniffed it, and took a large bite.

“Now,” the man started, “I’d like to know what ye’re up to, Jack.”

“I’m up to nothing.” Jack took another bite out of the apple.

“Then explain to me what ye’re doing with a siren, a sea goddess, and half a naval crew.” The other captain leaned into Jack’s face. James couldn’t imagine it was pleasant.

“Barbossa.” James took this to be the other captain’s name. “I’m only helping someone in need.”

Barbossa scoffed. “Ye never do anything but for yerself.”

“Not true.” Jack’s posture was defensive.

“True.”

“Not.”

“True and ye know it! What are ye hoping to gain?”

Jack stared at Barbossa, his lip curled. “In truth? I want a ship. And doing what I’m doing, I’m going to get one. And when I have it, I’m going to take _this_ one.”

Barbossa cackled. “I bet ye be thinkin’ just that, but I’ll have you know, ain’t nobody taking my ship.” His face grew deadly serious.

“It’s not your ship, mate.”

“Isn’t it?”

The tension in the room could’ve been cut with a knife. James was nearly sure the two men would fight, but they only glared at each other with hatred in their eyes. A knock on the door saved them from taking things further.

There came an unrecognizable voice. “The woman, as you wanted, sir.”

Then, Tia Dalma was shoved roughly through the door, to which she responded by hissing at the man handling her. She strode into the room with a certain air of authority that James hadn’t before seen. She looked down on them all in their seats.

“Ah,” said Barbossa. “And what be ye doin’ here, _Calypso?_” He emphasized her name, leaning forward in his seat.

“I do not have to explain myself to you.”

“No, no, that I suppose you don’t. I just wonder what a goddess be doin’ amongst pirates.”

James had heard whisperings of the name from weathered sailors. Some claimed to have seen her, while others claimed to know where she could be found. Many thought themselves cursed by her ill will after particularly nasty moments at sea, and some thought themselves blessed that her wrath hadn’t killed them. It was another thing James found absurd. Gods didn’t exist.

The world had a way of making him question himself on a near daily basis.

“Ye’re doin’ somethin’, Jack. Tell me, before I do anything that might be prevented by simple conversation.”

Hesitantly, Jack gave an account of their journey so far, how they’d ended up with naval men, and what their aim was. He conveniently left out Jimenez’s name.

“That’s quite a tale, Jack,” said Barbossa. “But I’ve heard less believable. Who is it that you’re chasing?”

Jack didn’t have to answer. Tia Dalma- or Calypso- or whoever she might be, answered in his place.

“Jimenez?” Barbossa raised an eyebrow. “A dangerous venture. You can’t hope to win.”

“That,” said Jack, “is where you’re wrong.”

Barbossa rolled his eyes. “And just how will ye be beatin’ the terror of the Caribbean seas?”

“With your help, mate, I could beat anyone.” Jack put his hands out, as if to literally hand the suggestion over.

“No. Why should I help you? What’s in it for me?”

Jack faltered.

The witch stepped in. “There is a curse on you, Barbossa. I know how it can be lifted.”

Barbossa bristled. “I already know how to lift the curse, thank you.”

James, by now, was acutely lost. He looked between people, judging how much they might know. At the moment, Merielle looked just as confused as he was.

“I can tell you where to find the boy.” Tia Dalma’s sharp gaze pierced the pirate captain.

Barbossa’s face changed, his eyes growing wider, and his mouth losing its scowl. For a split second, he looked in awe at the the women. The look disappeared quickly as it came. “You’re going to great lengths to see Jack succeed.”

“I’m not doing this for his success.”

Breath was held all around the room. Next to James, Merielle tensed. She and the witch made eye contact, and James briefly thought back to the soft conversation he’d overheard between them.

There passed a long moment before Barbossa spoke.

“Tell me.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James and Merielle go for a swim

“I don't like this.” James stood on the deck of the Pearl, his arms resting on the rails.

_‘Neither do I.’_ Merielle stood beside him.

James, once again, had the feeling that he knew very little of what was going on. He almost wanted to ask Merielle what she and Tia Dalma had talked about on the Interceptor,but didn't want to reveal the fact that he'd spied on them. The last thing he wanted was to betray her trust. He needed it then more than ever.

His thoughts reached back to Port Royal. There, Beckett awaited his success. James pondered how to return from this venture once he had all he needed. He likely wouldn't have many options to go ashore once they had the necklace. Perhaps he could use the compass to his advantage, but…There was too much to think about.

And what of Merielle? Would she leave the ship once she had the necklace? Or would she stay until her voice was back? James couldn't follow her if she returned to the sea. He'd have no hope of chasing her; she could escape him into the depths. There was Barbosa to worry about, too, and Tia Dalma atop that. Not to mention Jack. James was suspicious of the pirate. There was a glimmer in is eye that set James on edge. Everyone was trying to achieve their own ends.

His thoughts wandered back to Merielle and her conversation behind closed doors. James supposed he had to let her keep her secrets. After all, he had one of his own.

Absentmindedly, James watched as the water danced under the ship. Light glanced off it, and fish flicked their tails back and forth beneath the surface. They danced there as the ship cut through their ranks, scales all shimmering.

Merielle watched them too, her eyes dilating ever so slightly. It reminded James of a cat on the hunt.

“Merielle?” He turned his head to watch her.

She looked up, almost reluctantly, and set about writing. _‘I used to hunt them. There is a thrill that comes from twisting your body, driving it to its limits. I was a powerful creature of the deep, once.’_

“You are still,” James said, voice soft.

She smiled. _‘Thank you. I haven't swam in so long, I've nearly forgotten the shapes of my scales. You would not understand what it is for your body to slice through water, for your scales to shimmer and gleam in the rays penetrating the ocean’s surface. To be the terror of anything smaller than you. Even sharks have been killed by packs of sirens.’_

“You hunt sharks?” James was taken aback. He never thought of sirens as apex predators.

_‘No, we only attack them if they attack us.’_

“Ah.” Still, the thought that Merielle could help kill a shark sent a shiver down his spine.

Out in the distance, land came into view. The ships adjusted course. There, they could take on fresh water and perhaps find food. Any sort of fruit would be duly appreciated.

The ships were manned by a mix of crew. Some of the Interceptor's crew had been transferred to the Pearl. The exchange went both ways. Barbosa, currently in charge of everything, made sure that there were enough of his men in both places that he had absolute control.

“What's the story between Jack and Barbossa?” James asked.

_‘I'm not completely sure, but I think it has to do with mutiny. Jack only mentioned once that he'd had a mutinous first mate. It would explain why Jack calls the Pearl his ship.’_

“I see.” It was hard to imagine Barbossa serving under Jack in the first place. The captain was so much older than Jack, but James supposed that many of his own officers had been older than him, too.

Life boats were sent out to the island. James was aboard one of the dinghies, Merielle on another. Jack had stayed behind, leaving James, Merielle, and the the black pirate in charge of the supply group.

They landed on shore, the waves crashing over the shoals behind them. The sand swallowed James’ feet to the ankles. He helped pull the boats in. Once on dry land, barrels were unloaded and set in the sand.

The sand stuck to his feet as he made his way towards the grove of trees growing just beyond the beach. The island was a fair sized thing, but a mere speck compared to inhabitable places. The group wandered around for some time before finding a stream leading inland.

They followed the water to its source, a small pool set beneath a cluster of trees. On one side was a patch of long grasses. On the other was a mossy rock face. The outcropping hid that side of the pool from the sun, and a thin filter of algae grew on the surface.

From the grassy bank, the crew was able to fill their barrels with water. Jack hadn't picked up water since the beginning of their journey, and most of it was gone. Barbossa's crew, too, was in desperate need. They had but a barrel full, and when James had seen it, it had smelled old and musty, not the sort of thing one would want to drink.

Once the barrels were full, which regrettably required someone to pull them underwater and be in the water themselves, the group scavenged for food. The trees of the Caribbean often carried sweet fruits, though not all were accessible. In the case of palm trees, for example, it was hard for a man to shimmy up the thin trunks.

Thankfully, papaya trees were found. There was plenty to go around, and the crew ate some right then and there. Someone cut one of them open, seeds spilling from the swollen fruit. A sickly sweet tang filled the air, drawing men to it like moths to a flame.

Slices of papaya were passed around. James savored his, trying to make it last. He watched Merielle lick her fingers clean when she finished. A makeshift bag was fashioned from extra canvas in one of the lifeboats. In it they placed as much fruit as they could, and loaded even more into the bottom of the boat.

They pulled their haul onto the deck. At the first sight of papayas, men came rushing over from their places. It had been a long time since any of them had eaten fresh fruit. The fruit was split between the men.

James noticed that the ships hadn't gotten underway again. He went to discover the cause, only to find swimmers floundering between the two ships. The crew had taken a break to plunge into the ocean. Many of them climbed out, ate, and jumped back in.

The action was appropriate given the heat. James wanted to join in, but he felt that he should stay on deck. Appearances and all that.

Merielle walked up behind him, smiling._ ‘Come in with me. I was just telling you how much I missed swimming.’_

A pink flush threatened to jump from James’ collar to his face. “Alright.”

He motioned to the ladder, but she was having none of it. Instead, she jumped right in, sliding over one of the rails into the water below.

James lowered himself in and swam out to find her. She found him first. Her hair hung in dark strands, sticking to her face. Her smile was brilliant, and she sighed, relaxing back into the waves.

Looking down, James expected to find her legs or a tail, but what he found was half way between. Her tail, not having formed yet, was a mere web between her legs. In only moments, it transformed from a flap of flesh to a scale covered membrane. When it solidified into a tail, James looked back up, meeting Merielle's eyes.

She motioned to him with a finger, pointing down. Then, she grabbed his hand, pulling him under the surface. James saw what a powerful creature she really was, a woman stuck between two worlds. Her body was touching him, and her hands moved to his shirt for a better hold. Her tail pushed them far beneath the surface.

James then knew what it was like, a sailor's last moments in the arms of beauty. It was terrifying, but James knew Merielle would do nothing to hurt him. It was exhilarating, too. He hadn't been that far down before, and his ears began to hurt.

Merielle stopped their plunge. She turned them back upright, but didn't let them float to the surface. James opened his eyes to find hers looking right back at them. He could only see a watery image, but she was breathtaking.

They rocketed back to the surface. James’ lungs burned from holding his breath so long.

If she had wanted to say anything, and James was sure she wanted to gush, she couldn't. It was the first moment he truly wished she could talk.

“That was…” even though James could talk, he couldn't find the right words.

She nodded.

When she pulled him down again, he studied her tail in more depth. Dark blue scales covered it, but they sparkled with iridescence where the sun hit them. It occurred to him that she was better camouflaged deeper underwater. There, the light wouldn’t give her away so easily. He wondered just how far down she used to live.

The scales weren’t limited to her tail. A few dotted her stomach and some trailed down her arms. Her hips were covered in them as they crept apart to show skin underneath. Her upper torso was all skin, and James made sure his eyes skipped over the space where her wet shirt clung to her breasts.

Her fingers were webbed and her nails were longer. Her teeth, too, had changed shape, no longer the dull bones of a human, and more like those of a shark. Her eyes slanted and enlarged to take in more light, and her pupils took up the entire eye. She was much less human looking, but not quite fish looking, either. Her appearance was slightly monstrous, especially her giant, black eyes.

And yet, James was not afraid of her. On the contrary, he was fascinated. He could only study her for so long before he needed air, but he took in as much as possible. There was so much he wanted to know. She was as beautiful as she always was, James decided, because she was her. He felt privileged that she chose to show him, and only him.

The first thing he noticed when they went back up for air was that her eyes had automatically changed back to their normal size, shape, and color. They were less slanted and more in line, and the whites of her eyes looked like any normal person’s. Her teeth hadn’t yet lost their sharpness, but as she smiled, exposing them to the air, they began to dull. Her features changed at a surprisingly quick rate.

They went beneath the surface one last time, and James let go of her, reaching out. He brushed his fingers over her tail, lightly, trying to discern whether she would push him away. She did not, allowing him to feel the rough scales beneath his fingers. There was a slight space between the tops and bottoms of them, so James could run his finger under the lip of each scale’s tip. Underneath was something much like the membrane under an eggshell, but it was slimier. It was later explained to him that it kept the scales from scratching one another as the tail twisted.

She arched her back, letting the flukes of her tail rise up to meet James’ fingers. They weren’t scaled, instead being made of cartilage or some such thing. They were smooth like the hide of a shark. The base of her tail had scales, and they ended in a V where the flukes attached. There, they trickled off, James’ fingers only finding a few further down.

Sirens were much different creatures than James had thought. For one, he hadn’t expected her eyes or teeth to change, and he had thought that her entire tail would be scaled. In this he was wrong, for the scales didn’t give her the flexibility to move the flukes as needed. She was like a fish, whose body was covered in them until the fin.

Later, after they had finished splashing around, and Merielle had finished showing off her tail to enraptured onlookers, they sat together on deck, trying to dry off. The sun kissed the water right off their skin. James had so many questions, he didn’t know where to start, but he had to wait for someone to get Merielle a pen and paper.

She hadn’t been able to climb the ladder on deck, instead using her tail to propel her body out of the water. This had resulted in a hard landing on deck, and James was sure she’d have bruises all down her sides and arms where she landed.

“I don’t even know what to say.” James stared at the space between his feet. “Your eyes, your tail, your teeth and nails… all of it. Why?”

She might have laughed had she possessed the capability._ ‘My eyes adjust to the light. To take more in, I need larger pupils. You should see me when I’m deep down; my eyes take up most of the space on my head. My teeth and nails are for hunting. After all, the rumors about sirens eating men are true. We have to have some way to do it. My scales are only for protection. My tail is the most exposed part of me, and typically the most attacked. Nothing can bite through them except some sharks.’_

“Amazing,” James breathed. And truly, it was.

She went on to further educate him. He had been right; she was a deep sea dweller. Much of her childhood had been spent in the dark. Sirens, like humans, were different depending on the region. Tropical sirens who lived in reefs and shallow waters had brightly colored eyes and tails. Yellows, oranges, and greens were their colors. Varying shades of blues were found on those living in the open ocean, and those with purple tails rarely, if ever, saw the light.

There were freshwater sirens and saltwater sirens, the freshwater ones looking much like their salty sisters, though their eyes didn’t change and their scales were weaker. They faced less threats, and they could change forms more easily.

James could’ve spent hours listening to her explain everything. Papaya was handed to them, and James found himself tired after the swim. His eyelids drooped as the sun dipped low over the horizon, bathing the ships in golden light.

Merielle had the same feeling, and she scooted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Within a few minutes, the rise and fall of her chest had regulated, and James found her asleep on his shoulder. His hand instinctively went to the slip of paper in his pocket. He ran his fingers through her dark hair, and, when he knew he wasn’t being watched, planted a soft kiss on her forehead.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the group fights Jimenez

It was days after their swim together. James had been around Merielle far more often. He found he liked their close proximity. They talked more, and there were glances exchanged between them from across the deck when they weren’t together. When they stood together, James felt that their hands almost touched, occasionally brushing each other.

It was a newfound connection that James had a hard time understanding, but he wasn’t sure he needed to. It left him both thrilled and frightened. He worried that perhaps her gestures were only friendly, and she had no deeper feelings. He was also coming to terms with his heart, a treacherous creature indeed, and its affections for Merielle.

The sea spread over the horizon like spilt wine, deep and rich. The smell of the water was fresh and light, and it would always remind James of freedom. There was much to be said about such a topic. James had a newfound understanding of Jack and piracy as a whole. He still found it a despicable trade, but he found, too, that piracy was based off the knowledge that one could do as one pleased without being ordered around. This, a rather new concept to James, who had been ordered around his whole life, intrigued him. He was growing ever so fond of it.

On the sunrise of the fifth day since James and Merielle had swam together, there appeared another vessel on the horizon. It was a large one, James could tell just by looking. Only a silhouette against the rising sun, it boded ill for both parties. Nobody particularly felt like fighting that day.

Barbossa would hear none of it. If there was a ship to plunder, it would be, and he wasn’t going to let his men run away like frightened dogs with their tails between their legs. No, the morning would be a bloodthirsty one, and that would be that.

“If ye’d wanted pity, or a comfortable life, ye wouldn’t be sailing with me,” he yelled in his lilting accent. “And I’m sure Jack isn’t one to run from a fight, either.” He pointedly looked at Jack, who was back in command of the _Interceptor, _though under some supervision.

Jack didn’t look particularly pleased with this statement, but he agreed to fight none the less. “I could use a little more gold hanging by my side,” he said.

The crew was sorted out into deck fighters and gun teams, which had been decided upon long ago but were worth going over. It was decided that as long as the ship wasn’t British, James was allowed to fight on deck. He didn’t fancy working the cannons again, especially after his injuries the last time around.

It was hard to determine in the pale light what the ship was. It wouldn’t move from its position in front of the sun, making it exceptionally hard to discern what it was or what colors it flew. Even through the looking glass, everything was black. One thing everyone agreed on was that it grew steadily closer.

The ships took up position to flank their opponent, firing on them from both sides. Such a tactic was highly effective; ships had a hard time spreading their crew thin enough to cover cannons on both sides, let alone extra men to fight on deck. No matter the size or prowess of a ship, they would be hard pressed to take on both the _Interceptor _and the _Pearl. _There was confidence among the men that they could win the day.

They grew ever closer, the gap closing in less than an hour. It was after almost forty minutes that the ship became clear against the sun. Its dark sails flapped in the breeze, snapping open and pulling the vessel’s bulk ever forward. She easily held eighty guns, and her rat lines were filled with crew, meant to enlarge the appearance of the number of men onboard.

James sucked in a breath. There was no forgetting the burgundy sails, nor the ease with which the cannons could tear through a ship’s hull. He silently mourned the _Interceptor _and he watched his fellows bristle. The gleam of the light on the swords of the enemy did nothing to help the growing knot in James’ stomach.

Jack’s face, too, darkened. “This is _not _how I imagined my morning going. Why couldn’t it have been the French?” He mumbled.

Merielle assumed a position of command. She was agitated, James could tell, and she couldn’t quite stop moving. As she fiddled with her shirt, the cannons on deck were primed. James held his sword in hand, a familiar weight. His mind would detach once battle began, and he would be left to muscle memory. He hardly remembered much about his fights, only knowing the effect and aftermath.

The ships were almost in range to fire the long nines. James let his hand rest reassuringly on Merielle’s shoulder. As he did so, he felt a seed of guilt twist within his gut. He stood there, his hand on her as if he wished her only the best, as he planned to steal all she had worked for.

He didn’t bother trying to console himself and make excuses for his actions. They were his orders, nothing more. Any affection he had for her was his own damn fault. Besides, there were more pressing matters to think of, like the fact that his life would soon be in great danger.

The first shots were fired. A volley of steel fell just to the right of the _Interceptor, _and to the left of the _Pearl. _They had opened a gap between the ships, just enough that the opposing force would fit right between them. They would widen the gap as they grew rapidly closer.

Or so that had been the plan. The second volley was let loose, and the other ship adjusted its course. At least two cannonballs hit the _Interceptor, _though one only tore through a sail. Strangely, Jimenez did not deviate from his new course.

James panicked, realizing what could easily happen within the next minute. “They intend to ram us!” He shouted. “Adjust course right!” It was the only chance of survival they had if they ever wanted to escape.

“Belay that!” Jack hollered. “They’ll do no such thing.”

James rounded on him, but it was too late. The decision had to be made, and he helmsman had chosen his course. As the two ships came close, there was a splintering as wood crashed against wood, and then nothing more as the _Interceptor _fought its way to the side. Now, the ship was on their left.

They found themselves alone against Jimenez with nowhere to go. On the one side, Jimenez’s ship loomed over them. On the other, the _Pearl _blocked their escape. There was much yelling and swearing from both Jack’s and Barbossa’s crews, not that they could be blamed. There was no way for Barbossa to come to their aid.

Guns were fired. The _Interceptor _was nearly crushed in the first wave. They stood no chance. In fact, they stood a good deal less than a chance. But James would be damned if he had to kneel to that captain ever again. 

Grappling hooks were connected to the _Interceptor _without further delay. James did his best to cut away any in range of his sword, but there were too many for him to be of significance. Along with boarding by use of planks, the Spaniards used ropes to swing themselves from one ship to another. Soon, the smaller ship was swarming with sailers, all intent upon killing one another.

Nobody was more determined than the naval men. They cut and slashed at whoever got close, tearing through ranks of pirates. There was a fear inside them, and fear was a powerful weapon. The man who wanted to survive would do so.

James had moved himself to the lower deck, where things were a mess. Gunfire spewed bullets forth, and stray shots embedded themselves in the flesh of unsuspecting men. Battle was loud. From the cannon fire to the ringing of swords, and the screams of the dying to the shouting of orders, battle was a headache. One’s senses were so overwhelmed, there was little use actually trying to think. It was a mess of blood, sweat, panic, and a terrible ringing in the ears.

There was so much movement, James didn’t know what to pay attention to first. Whether to engage or to let engagement come to him, he couldn’t decide. The glare of the sun off swords momentarily blinded him as he moved. People ran and fought, all blurring together; there was no use in trying to differentiate one man from the next.

James was attacked by a stout man to his right. He was easily dispatched, but another took his place. This man was a better swordsman, but not good enough to beat James so early in a fight. There were two dead bodies at his feet, then three, then four. Finally, a blow glanced off his shoulder. He killed the man with a stab to the stomach, but the pirate taking his place slashed James’ thigh. He collapsed on that side, his knees hitting the deck hard. Fortunately, the pirate was offed by a stray bullet.

James couldn’t stand. The cut in his thigh was deep, and blood oozed over his breeches, staining the light fabric dark red. With some effort, he was able to pull himself to his feet, but he couldn’t bear weight on his right leg. The cut on his shoulder, too, smarted. If he couldn’t brace himself against something, he would soon die, and the rails to his right were the closest option. Maneuvering towards, them, he attempted not to draw attention to himself.

Once leaning against the rails, he was engaged again, this time by a man who couldn’t tell a cudgel from a blade, and James had little difficulty with him. His luck quickly ran out when he was noticed by someone new, a man whose face twisted with a grin as soon as he noticed James’ injury.

It took everything James had to drive the man away, including his pistol. A perfect hole in the man’s forehead, James slumped against the rails. They only came up to the spot below his waist, and he was sure that he could fall over them at any moment. He gripped onto them, trying to steady himself. He’d already lost a significant amount of blood; he could feel it in the dizziness that accompanied.

He was alone for a moment, and used the time to suck in a breath and steel himself. In that same time, a bullet lodged itself in his chest. He had the slight sensation of falling, but he knew no more than that, the sensation in his body utterly gone.

~~~~~

Merielle looked down at the deck below her. She was defending the helmsman, who was doing an admirable job of pulling them out of the range of fire. She had a cutlass, which she could hardly wield, but she had her nails, which served the same purpose. Lighter on her feet than her attackers, she darted around them to claw at their eyes.

Below her, the main deck was a knot of fighting men. She could hardly differentiate one person from another, and the tangle made it impossible to see if they were making headway. She knew James was down there somewhere, along with Groves. Alice had stayed on the upper deck, choosing to make her stand nearby. Jack, too, was around, fighting with a pair of menacing Spaniards.

Her attention was caught by a man desperately fighting near the rails. He was pushed back against them, using a hand to keep himself from falling backwards. He nearly failed shooting his adversary in the head, his grip slipping on the pistol.

His opponent out of the way, she could see a gash on his leg. He would surely bleed to death without proper care, and fatigue would kill him beforehand if he kept up the fight. His head turned to face her, and though he looked right through her, she realized with alarm that it was James. She wanted to cry out, but she couldn’t.

He turned away once again, pulling himself upright. Then, his body did the most unexpected thing. His entire body jerked as if hit by great force, and he slowly toppled over backward. Through his white shirt, a bloody circle seeped through thin fabric. Everything about him went slack as his body plummeted to the ocean below.

A sob escaped Merielle. Tears were already forming in her eyes as he hit the water, and they ran down her cheeks in red streaks. Without further thought, she sprinted to the opposite side of the deck. She easily vaulted the rails, contact with the cold water rendering her unable to move for a few precious seconds.

Her tail hadn’t entirely transformed before she pushed herself down under the waves. Her eyes adjusted quickly, but she couldn’t see him in the water. Panic gripped her; he’d been a friend to her, more than she liked to admit, and losing him seemed impossible. She strained farther down. It was easier when her tail formed. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find him.

Tears blurred her vision when she made out a shape below her. She descended to it rapidly, and she grabbed at the thing below her. It was him, his body slack and pale. She swam so that she could see his face. His eyes were closed, his features as peaceful as if he were sleeping. But he was pale, and the heat of his body was dangerously low. Merielle almost jetted to the surface with him before remembering that there was no air in his lungs. No matter how fast she swam, he would drown, and it dawned on her that he probably already had.

Filtering lungfuls of oxygen through her gills, she pressed her lips to his, making sure to hold his nose closed. She exhaled, trying to get some air into him before he died. She did so multiple times, but he gave no indication that he was alive. She took one more final, desperate lungful of air, and breathed it into his mouth, her body pressed into his. She let her eyes close and her grip slacken, resolving herself to goodbye.

A touch on her cheek alerted her to movement; his eyes had opened, eyelashes dragging across her skin. He was barely conscious, but her heart leapt with joy at seeing him alive. Relief washed over her, and she gave him more air, making sure he’d survive to the surface. Pulling him close, she swam to the light, breaching the waves with her head and shoulders.

She let them float there; he had slipped back to oblivion; and her tail did all the work of keeping them above the waves. Her only reassurance was the tickle of his breath on her neck. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see Merielle's point of view.

The _Interceptor _was able to pull away from combat, successfully outrunning its opponent. Away from cannon fire, the ship was subjected to less torment than it might have been. The only problem had been Jimenez’s crew, part of which had boarded the _Interceptor _during the battle. Barbossa had given them a hand in eliminating the remaining Spaniards. The day hadn’t been won, but it had been survived.

It took some time to clear away the bodies, but it had been done. The _Pearl _had met up with her partner a ways away from the original battle to assist in the killing of the remaining enemies. This done, they had managed to evade Jimenez. The flight was long, and slightly humiliating, but they had put a considerable dent in the Spaniard’s crew. Strangely enough, though quite a few naval men had been killed, none of Barbossa’s crew died in the incident.

Merielle had caught up with the ship early on in its flight. With some help from the crew, James’ body was dragged onto the deck, where men were still fighting, and she was pulled up right after. She was defended for enough time to regain her legs. Thus, she was able to pull James’ limp form to the captain’s cabin and drag him into what used to be his bed. There, she inspected his wounds.

The cut on his shoulder was of little consequence. It was but a shallow graze, and other than stinging, it posed no real threat. His leg, however, and his chest, were of great concern. A deep gash allowed blood to spew forth from his upper thigh, and his pants were a light pink from the amount of blood loss. The bullet hole in his chest was the greatest area of concern. It had nearly killed him, and might still. The bullet had entered just below his collarbone on the left side, effectively shattering it, but it had missed all important organs.

At the time, the fighting on deck had left Merielle with no option to get a doctor. She’d have to do things herself, not that she knew how. For many minutes, she suffered by his side, face wet with tears. At one point, she leaned over him to press an ear to his heart and reassure herself that it was still beating. Tears rolled off her nose in plump drops, rolling down her cheeks and off her chin. A few landed where his chest wound was. There was a hissing sound followed by the skin reattaching itself together. The wound, when cried on, healed.

Merielle cursed herself. Of course it did. Hadn’t siren’s tears been harvested for centuries, men trying their best to attain them for their healing properties? It was the history of her people; they were tortured and slaughtered by the hundreds for the benefit of greedy humans. Even Jimenez had been after them.

She let her tears fall from her face, willing them to roll over his wounds. In this way, she treated the bullet wound, which had definite entry and exit holes, and the slash through his thigh. The bones broken by the bullet regrew together. There would be little chance of the injuries reopening. Still, he would be weak for days, even weeks, given what he had endured. He couldn’t die of infection, but he would experience most of the same pains and fatigue as any normal patient.

Even when she was done crying over his body, the water rolling over his skin and seeping through his already wet shirt, tears still came. For uncountable minutes, she sobbed into the bedsheets. She sat in a chair next to the bed, and from there, she buried her face into the blankets, willing herself to fall asleep and forget the entire ordeal.

Instead, her pain grew worse with each passing minute. New anxieties popped into her head with every other breath. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he died later from sickness? What if he was in terrible pain? She checked his breathing twenty times to make sure he was still alive, but his breaths were shallow and faint, not those of a man at ease. Neither were they those of a man who would survive.

Her distraction came soon enough when the fighting was over. Jack dragged her out of the room, forcing her into meaningless conversation. She was secretly grateful, but she’d never admit to it. She knew just what he was doing, and though it didn’t entirely work, it helped. The others, seeing her distress, did their part to keep her calm. That being said, Alice and Groves looked awfully scared for the dying man themselves.

Hours passed with nothing. No change in his condition, no consciousness, and no signs of life other than his heartbeat and faint breaths. It didn’t reassure Merielle in the slightest, even though the ship’s surgeon had told her many times that James had a good chance of survival due to her efforts.

As if it had taken effort. To sit and cry had been nothing more than what her body had demanded of her in the first place. She couldn’t have done anything else. Her fear ate her up from the inside out. She hated to wear her heart on her sleeve, especially in front of the crew, but her emotions were too strong to ignore. She couldn’t even act like she was okay. Nobody judged her, this she knew, but she didn’t want people to get the wrong idea about her feelings for James, that the two of them were anything more than friends.

She thought about it more and more as the day wore on into night. How _did_ she feel, exactly? A little piece of her heart had slid around during the dance they shared back in Cuba. It had dropped to her stomach, and there it pitched and rolled with her every step. It was such a tangible thing she was surprised nobody could see it sitting in the bottom of her abdomen.

And when they had swam together, it had been like a dream. Very likely it had been her excitement at being back in the ocean after such a long time away. She hadn’t been able to properly swim through the water since the Caribbean, much too long a time for any siren or mermaid. Though she tried to give herself an excuse, she knew she hadn’t needed to have him with her. If she had wanted nothing more than the comforts of home, she would’ve plunged into the depths alone.

Nothing had prepared her for the shock of losing him. Or nearly losing him, she told herself- he wasn’t gone yet. The gut wrenching feeling of pain, a twisting in the chest, an emptiness of the lungs. The world had stopped in a moment. There was no other explanation for it other than that she cared for him. Even if it was just as a friend, though she had begun to suspect otherwise.

She sat on the bulkhead, hugging her knees to her chest. It was all too complicated for her. Of course she was wary, she’d given her heart to a man before. He had used it, twisted it to his own desires, and thrown it right back at her. She wasn’t a good catcher. It had shattered to millions of sharp slivers at her feet, leaving her alone and humiliated, and it had never healed correctly. Pieces of it still protruded from the whole, ready to slice anyone who got too close. Perhaps that was why she had regarded James with coldness for so long.

It was hours later when James finally stirred. Merielle was ushered into the room, met with James lying right where she left him, with the sole exception that he was awake. She had to restrain herself from dashing to the bedside. She took slow, even steps, focusing on each one. When she had reached his side a few strides later, she knelt down next to the bed.

He turned his head to look at her, dark circles under his glassy eyes. She let her fingers move a strand of hair from his face. He was pale, too much so. It was hard to see him so fragile, a mere shadow of the person he’d been only hours before. She feared he wasn’t strong enough to survive; even if his injuries had been healed, the energy it took away from him would be just as taxing as having let them be.

“I was told what happened,” he rasped. His voice was hoarse, scraping against the inside of his throat in its effort to get out. “Thank you.”

He began to shift, and Merielle put a hand on his chest to keep him down. He wiggled his arm out from beneath the sheets, just enough that his fingers brushed hers. They said nothing, but he gently twined his fingers through hers. They stayed like that for many minutes, just holding hands, taking in the other’s presence.

He squeezed her hand twice, and she thought back to their code. _I’m okay._ She smiled in return, only faintly, but enough to let him know she understood. He then squeezed her hand three times, leaving her confused. He didn’t hint at what it meant, only smiling and rolling back over. She stayed with him, holding his hand until he fell asleep.

~~~~~

He dreamed of drowning. His body, drifting down through the water, the light slowly dimming, succumbing to the kiss of the ocean. His eyes drooped closed and the heat was stolen from his body as he sank deeper into the abyss. Surrounded by nothingness; it wasn’t so bad a way to die. Forever sinking...

He awoke, sweat beading on his forehead. He refused to open his eyes, instead focusing on the pitch and roll of the ship. It was comforting. He reached up and softly touched his lips. It might not have been so bad, dying. He was bound to do it someday, and as an officer, he’d always expected it to be sooner rather than later. It would be peaceful, letting himself drown. It was certainly a less painful way to go than being stabbed or shot.

He vaguely remembered Merielle. His head was clearing as time wore on. He had a hazy recollection of Merielle pressed up against him, her arms under his, her tail scratching agains his exposed skin. And her lips against his. It was what he remembered best, waking to find her kiss.

He knew, of course, that she’d been blowing air into his lungs, trying to save him. He would be forever grateful. He’d been told by Groves how she’d dived over the side after him. He hardly believed it, but there was no other explanation. He couldn’t think of any other way he might’ve been saved, not to mention that he remembered awaking to her face less than an inch from his, and the feeling of her lips on his...

He sighed, removing his fingers from his lips. The pain from his wounds was greater than he might have expected, seeing as they were gone completely. He was absolutely weathered; he thought he might faint if he tried to move his legs. Along with the pain was a dull ache in his chest. He told himself it was the gunshot, but he would have to admit to himself at some point that it wasn’t the case.

There was something blossoming inside him, and he’d be damned if he’d admit to having feelings for Merielle. But that he missed the feeling of her lips on his was a telling sign. Thinking of how she’d held his hand as he lie abed, he wondered what his three squeezes had signified. Had they been a silent confession? He suppressed a groan of frustration. There was no way for him to get his job done if he hadn’t the heart for it. His fortitude needed to hold so he could return to a normal life. But would a normal life be worth it?

He changed his focus from the thoughts in his head to the feeling of the sheets in his hands. They were just as he’d ordered them back in Port Royal. He knew without looking that they were dark blue, and that the pillowcases were white with embroidery around the edges. The room was in various states of disarray, beginning with the fact that his desk had been moved from the center of he room to the side, pressed against a wall that had once held charts.

Mostly, his things had been thrown about from the ship’s movement during fighting, but other things had been moved by hand. It had been for reasonable purposes that his desk had been moved. It wasn’t fastened to the floor, and it was bound to crash into things. In an attempt to keep it from crushing things, it had been shoved in a corner. There were multiple pieces of parchment draped across it, many of which James hadn’t owned. He guessed they were a curtesy of Mr. Sparrow.

With a slight panic, he realized that he’d lost the paper Merielle had given him. It seemed so long ago that she wrote on it. He found himself sorely missing the comfort of tracing her handwriting.

It was hard for him to sit in the dark, the windows at the rear of the cabin closed, able to talk to no one and do nothing. He wished someone would keep him company, but there was no way to tell anyone he was awake. He passed many hours staring at the ceiling, using his brain for very little.

At what he assumed to be night, his door opened. With it came some cool air; the door had been shut all day, and it was becoming stuffy. Merielle slid in, shutting the door behind her. She pulled a chair over to a spot beside the bed, right next to James’ head. She had paper with her so they could talk.

_‘How are you?’_

“I’m alright.” He realized that he desperately needed water. He’d finished the small pitcher by his bed some time ago.

_‘You sound awful.’_

“Water might fix that.”

She stood, brought him water from across the room, and resumed sitting in the little chair next to him. He thanked her and took a long drink.

_‘How long have you been awake?’_

“Too long. It’s very boring in here, all alone.”

_‘I would’ve come sooner had I known.’_

“Don’t worry too much, I managed. I’m glad you’re here now, though.” His voice was returning to him.

She smiled. _‘I was afraid for you.’_

He sucked in a quick breath. “I... Thank you. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done.”

_‘There’s no need to. But you can if you must.’_

He raised an eyebrow.

_‘You can help me regain my voice. We’ll be even then.’_

“Of course.” A knot tied itself in the pit of his stomach.

_‘James?’_

“Yes?”

‘_I care about you. I hope you know.’_

His breath hitched. How he kept himself from kissing her right then and there, he didn’t know, though he suspected it had to do with the fact that he could hardly move. “I care about you, too,” he breathed.

A long moment passed between them, and they returned to regular pleasantries when it had ended. They said nothing of great importance. They had already said it. Before she left, yawning, she placed a soft kiss on his forehead. He almost reached out to grab her by the arm, but he thought better of it, letting her slip out into the dark night air.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merielle sneaks off ship.

Fog rolled in over the sea. It enveloped the ships so thoroughly that one couldn’t see from one deck to the other. It was disconcerting for all involved, especially because Jack and Barbossa trusted each other little. That they couldn’t see each other’s ships put them on edge, which in turn frayed everyone’s nerves. In fact, an argument got so heated between the two men, a different solution had to be reached.

Barbossa was afraid Jack would run off with half his crew, and in turn, Jack was afraid Barbossa would abandon him to Jimenez. They had settled any dispute on whether Barbossa could’ve been useful in their last fight when Gibbs had pointed out that even if they had swung around, the crew of the _Pearl_ wouldn’t have had enough time to significantly help in the course of the battle.

It was decided that Jack and Barbossa would dually captain the _Interceptor. _This left James and Merielle to take command of the _Pearl. _James hadn’t truly captained anything in his time as a pirate. He relished the thought of being back in command of a ship. His mission frustrated him to no end; he had earned his right to captain ships in the navy, and he didn’t like being reduced to anything less. He cursed Beckett’s name on a daily basis.

He was up and walking again after a week spent in bed. He’d been able to sit by the second day, his body having been thoroughly rested. Though he hated the boredom that had come with his injuries, he relished the time he was able to spend with Merielle. A unique relationship had been borne in that time, and not only in the sense that James felt himself falling for her further. He was able to understand her and her culture more deeply now that she’d had the time to explain it.

They spent many nights sitting in each other’s company, drinking tea and speaking of an ocean for which they had a shared love. There was a richness in the history of sirens he never might have guessed, as diverse and complex as that of humans. Sirens were a considerably older species than humans, having lived in the depths hundreds of years prior to humanity’s first appearance on earth. Sirens, originally, had minds more like those of animals, but they had changed over time.

It explained Merielle’s predatory like nature underwater. Mostly, the species had been concerned with feeding itself, finding shelter, and reproducing. Like any other animal, their concerns had been of survival. It wasn’t for hundreds of years that they discovered their ability to become human above the sea. It was long after that, too, that they found humans. With that discovery came the hunting of humans.

As humans tamed the seas, sirens were pushed farther underwater to escape the clutches of those who would see them eradicated. Those who did stay close to the surface still feasted on the flesh of men, refusing to hunt squid and other such slimy substances at the ocean’s floor. Many sirens considered human hunting to be a long passed down tradition.

From the discovery of mankind, sirens had made a sport of hunting them. It was much like how the rich hunted foxes. Sirens would hunt humans to prove their dominance, their adulthood, and their importance. In some tribes, it was common for male sirens to be judged on their kills for mating purposes. It brought them great pride. In others, one could prove their right to rule their tribe by hunting the most people.

Grecian waters had been a popular place for male sirens to lure their prey. Sailors would fall for their music and their toned bodies. Around Japanese isles, the sirens would slip up to washer women in the rivers and along the coasts. The Nordic coasts had been full of siren women singing their eerie melodies from the rocks, and Irish sirens wore seal furs to keep them warm.

For James, the stories were more bloodthirsty, and yet more understandable than he had expected them to be. He understood and sympathized with Merielle’s race. They needed meat to sustain them underwater. The exertion from swimming kept them needing copious amounts of protein to fuel their bodies. Much of it came from sea creatures, but humans were a great source of it as well.

In turn, James taught her about human culture and how different groups of humans were vastly different peoples. He told her as much English history as he could remember, which was little, for the naval academy hadn’t covered such subjects. His world history, too, was dismal, but he had learned much outside of school in that regard. Of literature he could speak absolutely nothing, and neither could Merielle, for obvious reasons. Siren history was purely oral.

She had been associating with humans only since Jimenez. James hated to think that he was the first human she’d known, that his personality was what she expected the world of men to be like. He admired her bravery in working with mankind any further.

James missed their talks together, though they certainly talked often after he was up and moving. The conversations weren’t what they once had been, but James enjoyed them none the less. Captaining the _Pearl _gave them a good excuse to converse.

The fog hadn’t lifted by the second day. It was as thick as it had been from the beginning, and James only caught slight bits of sound from the opposite crew that told him the _Pearl _was not alone in the milkiness. The surrounding mist was akin to the eyes of a blind man, elderly and wise. Alas, they were the eyes that gave a man a shock upon first seeing them, and one always had the strange sensation that the sightless orbs were watching.

In this way, James felt nervous. He was well aware that they had little knowledge or care of where they were going. They needed more help if they were going to fight the Spaniard. If James had payed more attention, he might have noticed the looks Merielle and Tia Dalma shared, or the words that floated in and out of their lips, swallowed by the fog. Alas, James could be rather oblivious, though nobody had had the heart to tell him as much.

It was when James hadn’t seen Merielle in a strangely long amount of time that he realized something was off. He checked the captain’s cabin of the _Pearl, _a more magnificent cabin than the _Interceptor’s, _but found her not. Instead, he was met with an empty room. He took his time exploring some of the many rooms belonging to Barbossa, including where they’d eaten as hostages. It was an elegant dining room; James couldn’t imagine it was used on a regular basis. How many captives did he treat with civility? He had shackles in the brig for a reason.

Merielle appeared some time later, and James almost missed her as she slipped belowdecks. He grabbed her by the arm, noting the wetness of her shirt on his hand. She turned, clearly startled by his touch.

“Where have you been?” He hissed.

Lacking her pen, she couldn’t respond. She tried pulling away from his grip, and he let her go, though his hold on her arm had perhaps been firmer than it needed to be. A guilty look crossed her face. She hurried away, but James thought it best not to follow.

He gave it a half hour. When she didn’t reappear, he made his way to the lower decks in search of her. She was good at hiding from him, he had to admit; it took him ten minutes to find her. Eventually, he found her in the back part of the kitchen eating apples. She had changed out of her wet shirt and into a new ensemble.

She looked up when he entered the room as if she could feel his presence. She chewed on her lip before beckoning him over, motioning to her paper.

“Where were you?” He whispered, trying to keep open ears from hearing anything they shouldn’t.

_‘Swimming.’_

“Why?”

_‘Why shouldn’t I? I am a siren, am I not?’_

“You’ve never taken swimming excursions before. And even if you had, it wouldn’t cause you to hide from me.”

_‘I’m not hiding. I’m... procrastinating.’_

“For the love of God, explain yourself!” It was getting harder for James to control his voice. He didn’t like playing games and avoiding questions. A redness was crawling its way up his collar, he could tell.

_‘I visited my sisters.’_

“They’re nearby?” He asked, incredulous.

_‘The mist helps hide them. I supposed we might ask for their support.’_

James grabbed her wrist, much more gently than before. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

_‘You didn’t seem thrilled with the idea before. I thought you might protest, and you could easily get the pirates to back you. They fear us, you know.’_

“I suppose I understand,” he grumbled.

_‘Thank you.’_

“What’s your plan?”

The plan, as it turned out, was for Merielle to continue her escapades into the deep without her absence being noticed. She could convince her fellow sirens to support her, and only after gaining that support, she’d announce it to the crew. For the safety of everyone involved, the sirens would swim alongside the ships instead of boarding them. Mostly, Merielle worried about the mens’ affect on the sirens, not the other way around.

James was wary. Things could go wrong quickly. Humans had a hard enough time working with other humans, but with another species, it could be doubly as bad. Sailors were a superstitious lot, and many people complained about Merielle and Alice, that they were the certain doom of everyone within a ten mile radius.

Keeping in mind how hard it would be to convince the crew of their safety, James wondered if they could keep everyone’s trust. If only James, Merielle, and Tia Dalma knew of things, there would certainly be backlash. Perhaps Jack was expecting it, but Barbossa probably wouldn’t condone the other sirens at all.

While James overanalyzed, Merielle sat watching the gears in his head turn. It made him slightly uncomfortable, having her stare at him for so long. Then again, perhaps being the center of her attention was a good thing. His train of thought derailed, sending his mind on a very different course. It was only when Merielle waved a hand in front of his face that he flushed, cleared his throat, and snapped back to reality.

“I’ll help you.” She was smiling before he had even finished. It was one of her genuine smiles, and it broke his heart to see the trust she had in him. “But only because we need more help. We can’t do it with the help of Barbossa alone, no matter how fine this ship is. I don’t trust him all that much, either.”

_‘Pirates.’_

“Agreed.”

The next twenty four hours were mainly comprised of slipping Merielle on and off the ship in a manner that wouldn’t cause suspicion. It was increasingly hard to hide her wet hair and clothes, especially because when she changed out of her clothes, her hair was still plastered to her face. She had to wear it up, which was distractingly attractive, but James didn’t have time for such thoughts.

Mainly, James made sure she went through gun ports. They were easy to slip open and closed, and many were out of sight of the sailors’ usual hangouts. Merielle made many appearances on deck to preserve the illusion that she was constantly aboard ship, but every few hours, James slipped her back to the ocean.

By the time things were finished, James was exhausted. It was four in the morning when he let Merielle back onto the ship for the last time. It had taken her longer to return than normal, and James had worried. Return she did, and James let out an audible sigh of relief when her head appeared above the waves.

As it turned out, she could throw her voice through the water, and the echoes bouncing back at her would identify objects. It was how she found the ship each time she left, and it was why sirens had such powerful voices. The echo of the noise would tell her what and where things were. To James, it was fascinating. She informed him that dolphins were capable of it, too.

He helped her back onboard, dropping a line of rope and hauling her up by it. She was heavy in siren form because of her tail. It was the majority of her body weight, making her much lighter as a human. It was difficult to get her through the gun ports each time, but she helped where she could, taking the strain off by using a hand to pull herself along here and there. Despite her efforts, most of the work fell upon James until her legs transformed half way up the ship’s side.

When she entered the hull, she practically collapsed into James’ arms. It had been an exceptionally long day for her, and one of physical difficulty. She’d swam countless miles, even from the ship down to the level of ocean at which she could meet her kin.

_‘I haven’t swam that far in a long time. I feel like I’m going to fall over.’_

James had done her the favor of providing writing utensils. “I can imagine. Can you make it to your cabin?”

_‘I’d rather not.’_

James was taken aback. Merielle was a stubborn person and often refused help. When she’d been injured, she had insisted on walking everywhere herself. That she was accepting his offer was surprising, especially given the fact that she could likely make it to her bed on her own.

He gently lifted her off her feet. He was acutely aware of how fabric clung to her body, and how he could feel her body heat under his fingertips. When she curled into him, her head pressed against his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt, his breath hitched. He was glad it was dark, else the red flush across his skin would have been noticed. When one of her fingers lazily found its way into a gap between buttons in his shirt, teasing skin, he wished he could say the blood only rushed to his head.

He was glad that her cabin had multiple entrances. By taking her through a different door, they weren’t noticed. He set her down on the bed, making sure to pull the covers over her shoulders. She sleepily batted him away, sitting up. It was only when she arched a brow that he realized she needed to undress.

“G-goodnight,” he stuttered.

It was too dark to make out her reply, but he knew it was his time to leave when she turned to the task of unbuttoning her shirt, revealing her collarbones. He left quickly and fidgeted with his collar the entire way to his hammock. It took an uncomfortable amount of time to convince his body to stop feeling her against his chest and the finger that had brushed the skin there. It was nearly light when he fell asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is the dilemma of sirens.

James groggily lifted his head from the hammock. He’d been having a lovely dream featuring Merielle and all the places her fingers might wander if left unattended and unhindered. When James finally pushed himself out of his hammock, more so falling than actually getting up, he found himself... uncomfortable between the legs. Having just ceased thinking about such things, he groaned. It was a few minutes before he could walk without anything being obvious.

The first thing he noticed on deck was how light it was. It was late morning, and neither he nor Merielle had been on deck. He chastised himself for oversleeping (though the dream might just have been worth it) and took up a position near the helm. Light was filtering through the mist, the first he’d seen in days. Rays cut through the fog like swords, their fingers caressing the deck. The added warmth was welcome.

He could make out the outline of the _Interceptor _and hear voices from that direction. The sight created a worm of worry in his stomach. If things had worked out between Merielle and her kin, the backlash would be harsh. She hadn’t told him such, being much too tired, and James was left wondering what had transpired in the depths.

It wasn’t long before Merielle made her appearance. She hadn’t bothered with a waistcoat, instead letting her shirt hang loosely over her frame. It was adorable. The light haloed her body. She looked as tired as he felt, though, and he wished he could take a nap with her curled up on his chest.

He switched his attention to the thinning fog. It was dispersing rapidly, and James actually caught glimpses of the other crew through the streaking mist. Within minutes, they’d broken through to clear skies. Everyone shielded their eyes until they could adjust to the light. There came a cheer from both crews, and James had to admit that he too was happy to be out of the oppressive blanket of constant grey.

Rocks jutted out of the water not far in front of them. They were flat topped, as if something had cut the tops off. They could still sink a ship, of course, and they were incredibly large. The helmsman steered them through a passage, the _Pearl _in front of the _Interceptor_. They had to be close to land. There was no other way for the rocks to jut out of the water; waters in the middle of the ocean were too deep for such occurrences.

They were about half way through when figures appeared on the rocks. They were hard to see at first, but upon closer inspection, people sat on each of the rocks, the flat surfaces making perfect seats. They all wore white, and became exponentially more menacing when the sun disappeared behind a cloud. They weren’t humans at all, James realized. They were sirens.

None of them sang as the ships passed by, as Merielle’s agreement was sure to have included. They were a diverse group, everywhere from black haired males with sharp cheekbones to youthful blonde girls with roundness still in their cheeks. Each one managed to be intensely alluring.

There was a general stiffness amongst the crew. Nobody, save the helmsman, moved. Not even Merielle. There was no sound, and all eyes were warily on the sirens. As the ship passed each rock, sirens slipped into the water behind them. They swam alongside the ship, just far enough under the surface that they appeared like ghostly shadows. It was like the crew collectively held their breath until they were out on open waters again.

Even then, everybody was reluctant to move. James took the first steps, striding over to the rails to see if the sirens were still following. He gulped; they were. He felt nearly as uneasy as the rest of the men. He trusted Merielle just fine, but there were too many tales of sailors being consumed by the razor sharp teeth swimming all around them.

The _Interceptor_ slipped alongside the _Pearl. _Wordlessly, planks were set down by both crews to allow transportation across. Barbossa stepped onto the _Pearl _with confidence, followed by Jack, who looked worriedly down at the waters below.

“I didn’t agree to this, Jack.” Barbossa rounded on the pirate the moment they were both on solid wood.

“This wasn’t my plan, mate.”

“Then whose was it?” The man’s eyes fixed on James, and James had a terrible feeling that he might be smothered in his sleep if he wasn’t stabbed on the spot.

He cleared his throat. “I figured we could use some extra help.” His voice sounded strained.

Merielle approached the conversation, her arms crossed. She held herself like a man, except that she was considerable smaller than those around her. She pointed to herself. _‘It was me.’ _The paper was passed around. _‘You’re all daft if you think we can take on Jimenez again without another force.’_

“I didn’t agree to fighting him again, either,” Barbossa pointed out.

“If you didn’t want to try again, then you wouldn’t be here. You’d be back on this ship, sailing away from us as quickly as you could,” James cut in. “You had your chance to leave. Instead, you mixed our crews together and entrusted Merielle and I with your ship. You aren’t leaving us any time soon.”

“Aye, perhaps I’m not! Ye forget why I stay, and why I shouldn’t have to worry about the consequences of attacking Jimenez. But if we fail to kill him? Bah!” His head rolled around on his shoulders. “There would be no use being mortal once more if I had that maniac chasing me across the seas.”

James was lost. What Barbossa meant by ‘mortal’ James didn’t understand, though everyone else seemed to know just what was happening. Still, he pressed on. “If we’re to defeat the Spaniard, we need all the help we can get. I’m not looking forward to being slaughtered alone. I came close enough.” He touched the spot on his chest where the bullet had gone through.

“Ye knew about this plan, Jack,” Barbossa accused.

“I did not,” Jack protested.

“Ye did to.”

“I did not!”

“Ye did and ye know it, Jack.” Barbossa’s eyes sparkled. “Now the question is, what’re we going to do about it? I don’t fancy the thought of hundreds of sirens following us, and I don’t think the crew does, either. How do we know they wouldn’t attack us be the time right?”

“Merielle spoke with them.” James didn’t like the way in which everyone’s gaze was shifted to him, especially how Barbossa rolled his eyes like James was some petulant child. “And I agree. I might not trust them so much, but I do trust her. And because of that, I think we can be assured of our safety.”

“It’s all well and good that ye trust her, Mr. Norrington, but what of the rest of the crew? Not all of them do, and no pretty speech on yer part will change their minds. They aren’t so close to her as ye are.” Barbossa’s knowing look sent a shiver down James’ spine.

“This is what I propose.” This was Jack, who waved his fingers in the air like limp noodles. “Instead of bickering, we act like we were in agreement from the beginning, thus satisfying the crew and keeping their trust. If we pretend we made this decision together, the crew won’t have divided opinions.”

“Ah, ye know all about that, don’t ye, Jack.”

“Divided opinions make for mutiny, mate.”

“And I don’t fancy the thought of me crew dividing from _my _opinions, so I find it best to stay out of this agreement.”

_‘You will be in agreement or I will rip off your head.’ _Though it was first passed to Barbossa, the note was read by all present. _‘Then, you won’t have to worry about a mutiny against you.’_

“Yer point is taken and understood, missy. But ye have yet to convince me.”

On that unpleasant note, the conversation was ended. Barbossa was certainly a force to reckon with. But so was Merielle; this James knew well. She would find a way to make him submit.

It took a full day before the captains could come to an agreement and address the crew. James now understood why the world had kings and queens instead of multiple leaders. It took too long to come to decisions with multiple people in charge. It was taking so long, in fact, that whisperings throughout the crew were spreading outrageous rumors. Men were prone to talking, of course, when situations got strange, but James had heard some distinctly impossible theories, and others that were nonsensically odd.

Barbossa was willing to cooperate after Tia Dalma threatened to break the agreement they had on Merielle’s behalf. Barbossa didn’t like it at all, and used his powers as captain to imprison her in the brig as punishment. Merielle utilized her powers as a captain directly afterwards, setting the woman free again.

There was much butting of heads, and James secretly hoped that they’d encounter Jimenez soon. That way, they would have no choice but to work together. He was quickly tiring of the sour moods onboard the ship, and he wasn’t the only one. Jack stayed out of it as much as he could, but his swashbuckling temperament seemed dampened by the constant tension.

Alice, too, had noticed something was amiss. Groves, being the absolutely oblivious man he was, hadn’t, but Alice sidled up to James one day to ask what was going on.

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge. You’ll know soon, depending on when we address the crew.”

“You’ll address us?” Alice asked. “Do you know why the sirens are following us? Does it have to do with Merielle? Is that why she and Barbossa are on bad terms? Will he be leaving us?”

James massaged his temples. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Seeing the gleam in her eyes, he said, “And I’m not saying anything more, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

She left, disappointed, and James could only hope the four captains would speak to the crew soon. Too much waiting would cause a mutiny.

James hadn’t realized how much Merielle could gesticulate. It was back in her cabin, as she spoke to him in confidence, that he discovered how expressive she could be. She had desperately needed to vent to him, and he was happy to listen. She furiously scribbled her complaints onto pieces of parchment before handing them to him. Half of the talking she did with her hands, waving them about to emphasize her points. She nearly whacked James a handful of times, interrupting herself to mouth _‘sorry’_ each time.

He only smiled and let her continue. Watching that much frustration bottled up inside such a small person was amusing, but he sympathized with her, too. There had been many days when his job pushed him to the limits of his patience. When she exhausted herself, he handed her a glass of water. He hadn’t spoken the entire time, letting her get out what she might.

_‘What do you think?’_ She pushed him the small slip of paper over the tabletop, eyes questioning.

“I agree that this is frustrating,” he began. “We need to tell the crew that the sirens were a planned occurrence. They’ve come up with ridiculous ideas, as is their wont. We have to put an end to their questions before they confront us with pistols drawn. They’re not comfortable with the situation.”

Merielle nodded. _‘Who should speak to them? There are four of us, but I’m worried about what Barbossa might say. His words might be taken the wrong way. And Jack... who knows what he’ll say.’_

“I agree.” He waited a confused moment before continuing. “Do you want me to give the speech?”

_‘I think it might be best. I can’t claim that you’re impartial, but I think you have the best sense among us to keep the crew under a united opinion. You can do it concisely and effectively.’_

It wasn’t a question. She believed in him. “You’ve never heard me give a speech.”

_‘But I’ve heard you speak.’_

“I hardly think that counts.”

_‘It’s enough for me.’_

“Thank you.” James grabbed her hand from across the desk. She let him. He savored the contact, but his mind quickly turned elsewhere.

He thought about what he might say to the crew to assure them of their safety and that things were going as planned. Merielle, seeing his distress, massaged his hand with her fingers, and wrote with her free hand.

_‘You already know what you’re going to say. You’ve argued your point before. Now, instead of arguing, you just state the reasons. You’ll do fine.’_

She was right; he _had_ argued his position on the matter before. All he had to do was to remember what he’d said to Barbossa. In that way, he could relate to the crew satisfactory reasons for their being accompanied by underwater companions. If he could assure them that they were safe, and that everything was for the best, he’d have them under control and out from under any delusions.

Barbossa was nonplussed to have James give the speech, but Jack was all for it. Nobody argued the point, though. James liked to think that it was due to their confidence in him, but it was more likely that everyone was tired of bickering.

James found himself in front of a crowd of men, as many of them crammed onto the deck of the _Pearl _as would fit. The others listened from the _Interceptor _where they could, and yet others would be informed of the details by friends. It was much less terrifying to address them than he originally thought it would be. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done such a thing before, but when he _had_ done it, his crew hadn’t been allowed to utter a word against him. There, standing before pirates, he felt that he might be lynched.

The news was generally taken well. There were grumblings, and bets that had to be satisfied, but the men seemed to trust in the decisions made by their captains. James was relieved. The last thing he wanted to put up with was mutinous men. He didn’t have to worry; the men shrugged off any reluctance they might have had about working with sirens. It seemed that James’ description of their inevitable demise at the hands of Jimenez without extra help had done its job.

James wasn’t quite sure how the sirens would help, other than trying to distract Jimenez’s crew with their voices. There were too many things that could go wrong. They could mistakenly lure their allies overboard, or they could all be shot, and in the worst case, Jimenez could be immune to their song and imprison them all. If nothing else, their teeth and nails would come in handy.

James tried not to worry himself. Wrapping his brain around all the possibilities was not only tiring, it was impossible. He changed his focus to the soft rustle of Merielle’s hair in the evening breeze, trying not to let a pit of dread into his stomach as he imagined how everything might end.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James has a crisis...and then has some fun.

Few ships passed them as they sailed. Even such a small portion of ocean was a vast space, and there weren’t so many ships that a sailor saw one every day. They stopped to take on more water, landing on a large, forbidding island. Faces popped out of the water to watch them, and some of the sirens followed the lifeboats to shore. There, the sirens sunbathed on rocks and talked with each other in a watery language James didn’t understand.

It was on a day when they _did_ see a ship that James found himself in a foul mood. It was due to the ship in question, a naval ship captained by a harsh man and belonging to none other than Lord Beckett. If the pirates were spotted, the _Endeavor_ made no notice. It went on its way and out of sight, slipping past the horizon.

The ship was a reminder of the weight on James’ shoulders. He considered that many of the naval men onboard the ships still thought they were partaking in some sort of mission given to James, and the thought made him ill. Whether they still thought he served England, he couldn’t tell. Few of their beliefs were told to him; many of them didn’t speak with him on a regular basis, so he had to trust his instincts. He felt that he’d jilted them, in a way, allowing them to make new friends with the knowledge that they’d be returning home. On the other side of the coin, he figured many were left wondering when they’d get back to Port Royal.

The complications made his head hurt. He couldn’t have slipped away from the crew in Tortuga; it would’ve caused great suspicion among the men. That being said, he was regretting his choice to allow them to follow him. He hadn’t quite made up his mind about going through with things. He felt immeasurably guilty about cheating Merielle, though he had no qualms over taking anything from Jack.

He could feel eyes on him, and though he knew them to be the regular stares of men, he couldn't help but feel the vehemence behind their gazes. It was imaginary suspicion, a reflection of the the guilt he himself felt. He felt as though the crew could see right into his very soul.

Pushing such thoughts out of his mind, he tried to focus on the tasks set before him as captain. There was little for him to look after, for the sailors aboard pirate ships were arguably more experienced than those aboard naval ships, so little needed correcting. The older sailors were taking care of the boys just fine- better than James might have. Besides, there were multiple captains to take care of things.

That fact was growing more problematic by the day. Jack and Barbossa were constantly in small competitions, mostly initiated by Jack. There was actually a time when Jack connected two spy glasses to make his longer than Barbossa's, a truly ineffective and ridiculous method of use. There was nothing that could actually be seen through the deficient tool, rendering the thing useless. It was only a single example of the many things Barbossa rolled his eyes at.

Barbossa, for his part, didn't take Jack's antics seriously. Why should he? Nobody did, and James found it ridiculous that a grown man would reduce himself to such behavior. But James would never forget the dangerous gleam in Sparrow's eye the first time they met. Perhaps- and it was something James was just realizing- perhaps Jack acted so absurdly so that he wouldn't be taken seriously. Nobody would suspect him of being capable of much. Being underestimated could be a tool in one’s belt.

James, being much absorbed in his thoughts, hadn’t realized Alice behind him. She leaned against the rail to James’ right, as was her way. He had noticed that she had a peculiar habit of leaning against things when talking to people. James might not have condoned such a thing before, but he hadn’t reprimanded anyone for behavior in a long time during his life of piracy. Or fake piracy, that was.

“What are you brooding about?” A smile decorated her features, and he knew she was teasing him.

“I’m not brooding, thank you. Just thinking.”

“If you say so. What are you thinking about?”

“Many complicated things that require my attention.”

“Sounds like a fancy way of telling me to mind my own business.”

“That’s not what I said.” When she gave him a look, he continued. “But no, I do not wish to share such things.”

Her voice changed, taking on a graver tone. “Perhaps talking to someone would help. Get it off your chest and all.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Think about it.”

They turned and looked out to sea, watching the ever empty horizon. The waters were glass, and the ships passed smoothly through them. James caught glimpses of human-like forms gliding beneath the surface. The sirens kept pace with the ships, though how they did so, James couldn’t tell. All he knew was that when they needed rest, such as at night, they’d climb aboard, and the sailors would pay them no mind. Their sleeping forms would fill the decks with a fishy smell for a few hours before they slipped back beneath the waves. Needless to say, it had been hard to convince the crew that it was the best course of action.

“It’s not something I want to admit to,” James said, referring back to their conversation. “It’s the sort of thing that one doesn’t divulge.”

“Again, it would help you to do so. But if you can’t, then I suggest you allude to it without giving away too many details.”

“Have you ever done something you feel guilty for?”

“Of course. Everyone has.” There was an atmosphere about her that was so different from usual, so much more mature. James had to admit that he appreciated it.

“I-I’ve done something like that. Or I will, shortly. Or...” he trailed off. No matter what decision he made, he was sure to regret it. To leave behind his life, or to destroy a friend? “It’s complicated. But I feel guilty none the less.”

“Alright. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

James gulped. “I fear I might hurt someone I care about.” He looked at Alice then, with an air of uncertainty and fear.

“I can only tell you what I know. And I know that hurting someone you care for is a wretched thing to do, and that you will probably regret it for a long time. But I know that you wouldn’t hurt someone needlessly, so you must have a reason for doing so.” Here she paused, and James thought she might be waiting for his response. “You don’t need to tell me why you’re going to hurt someone, nor who it is. I’d just like you to think of why you’re doing it, and weigh the reason and effect.”

“That’s what I _have_ been doing! It’s getting me nowhere! I feel helpless in this, Alice. I wish the decision was not mine to make.” He was well aware that he was divulging too much information, and he hoped he conversation would stay between them personally, as he didn’t want word traveling to Merielle.

“I think you’ll come to a moment of understanding at some point. James,” here she turned to him, grabbing his arm, “you are a good man. There will come a time of clarity. Don’t take the time to struggle with yourself now, it’ll do you no good.”

He nodded his head. “I can only do my best, but worrying seems to be my state of being of late.”

“It’s okay to make mistakes, James. I know it isn’t said enough, but mistakes are a part of living. If you have regrets, you’ll have time to make amends. Life is nothing but time, James, and we must use it as we might, mistakes included, for in mistakes we find learning.”

“Thank you.” He still stared at her with worry in his eyes, but he was slightly relieved. Nobody had bothered to tell him such a thing before. It meant more to him than he could say.

“The best of luck to you, James Norrington. You might be needing it, yes?” She punctuated the statement with a smile.

“Yes, I might.” A flicker of a grin split his face before his expression went back to its state of concentration. It was enough for her, though, and she slipped away from him and her place on the rails.

James decided not to let his mind further tangle itself in complications. He turned to find some of the men clustered in a group in the middle of the deck. They were talking animatedly, laughing and waving their arms about. They pointed to the section of deck just below the quarterdeck. James couldn’t make out any of what they were saying, but they seemed to be having a good time. A few of them dispersed, going belowdecks and reemerging with cloth, a barrel, and a long coil of rope. They hung their cloth right in front of the door to the captain’s cabin.

James was now fully interested in what the men were doing. It was a diverse group of men, ranging from the youngest naval boy to the oldest of pirates. James felt a pang of envy- he had never partaken in such things when he was a younger man. He had missed out on all such things, his work being more important. Perhaps he should’ve taken life a little less seriously.

It was then that Groves approached him, a smile plastered on his face. He looked over his shoulder to his fellows, and he hopped up the stairs to where James stood. He was bereft of his wig, and he’d shed his coat in preference of a lighter shirt. He wore it untucked, and James could hardly blame him. James, for his part, had gotten his hands on a light brown waistcoat of fitting length. Thus, he looked rather more presentable, though he’d doffed his coat in favor of his undershirt.

“Sir, you wouldn’t mind doing an activity with us, would you?”

“It sorely depends on the activity.”

“Have you done any acting before, sir? The men want to put on a mock trial.”

James raised an eyebrow. “A mock trial?”

“To poke fun at the trails they’ll be faced with if they’re ever caught, sir. It sounded fun to take part in.”

“What would you have me do?” James was curious. He’d never heard of pirates putting on shows; the navy had done no such thing. The most exciting thing the navy had done was the line-crossing ceremony.

The line-crossing ceremony was for the benefit of those who had never before crossed the equator. As the ship crossed the line, those who hadn’t yet sailed over that point were given a sort of celebration. This included being forced to eat inedible food, perform tasks for the amusement of the more experienced men, and the terrifying sensation of paint being slathered on one’s face before being dunked into a tub of water. The ritual was one of intense discomfort.When James had gone through it, he hadn’t appreciated the feeling of being lathered in paint, nor the rough way he was pushed into a tub of freezing seawater.

“We would have you read off our grievances. We thought it would be fitting, seeings as you are- or were,” he corrected himself, “the captain of a naval ship.” Leaning in closer, he whispered, “Not that you won’t be again. Or that you’ve lost that title.”

James gulped, nodding. “I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad for me to have some fun. Besides, I might like making up my own things to add to the lists.”

“My, sir. I hadn’t thought you had a sense of humor!”

James smiled. He was happy to carry out the task, and it might do the trick of getting his mind off things. He followed Groves to the makeshift theater. The background was a nice pale color, while the stage was a wide barrel. The rope had been tied into a noose, set on the necks of the actors. It wasn’t tightened, nor was it connected to anything, preventing the risk that someone might actually choke themselves.

Apparently, mock trials weren’t unheard of. Many pirates used the production to make fun of the law, and it was a stress relieving activity for the crew. Instead of putting on a theater production, which might have been equally entertaining, the mock trial was free to anyone who wished to participate. They would hand a list to James, stand on the barrel, and have the fake executioner set a noose around their neck.

James retrieved his wig and jacket for the sake of theatrics. He could’ve done without them, but he figured he might as well play his part. He held each list before him like a crier might, and read with all the authority of God the crimes listed on the sheet. He was no good at making things up, so he stuck to the lists for a good time, which were often funny enough.

It was when Alice took her place on the stand that James deviated from the list. He read through the accounts of piracy, theft, and deserting. He then added a few of his own. “And for her constant wisecracking, and the fact that she had me thoroughly convinced of her manhood when we worked honest jobs. Not to mention the offensive amount of ink that constantly covers her face.” Looking up at her, he saw the exact smudges described decorating the bridge of her nose.

“Ah, now. I’m sure you don’t find me half as offensive as you say. And, now, good people, tell me: should we list the wrongs of this man?” With this, she pointed to James, and she managed to rally good applause. She truly was an actress.

Jumping off the barrel, she directed James toward it, setting about his neck the noose. She then took the wig from his head and placed it on her own, letting it hang in a lopsided manner. “I sentence this man to a hanging for his law loving, rule abiding nature. He, a captain in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, a hunter of pirates, and a pox on us all! He, a man of order and structure, stands against our freedom! What say ye?”

A chorus of _‘guilty!’_ rang from the crowd. In the only moment of acting brilliance he’d ever had, James did his best to reenact a hanging. It was a vulgar moment of his life, but it sparked much hilarity from the crowd. James felt rather silly as he stepped off the podium, but took the laughter of the men as a good sign.

“It is a good thing,” Alice remarked quietly, “that you don’t work for the navy any longer. Then they really might have strung you up.”

He knew it was a jest, but he tensed none the less. He did his best to smile and laugh, but he couldn’t escape the unease tugging at his chest.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James and Merielle spend some quality time together.

The trials had been fun, but the light of day was fading, and James found himself resting wearily on the bulkhead near the aft of the ship where the hammocks were. Belowdecks, light bounced off the walls and formed oddly shaped shadows. Twilight didn’t exist below the main deck. Instead, the lamps were lit just after sundown, and the decks got their light that way. Things were very dark in the rooms due to the lack of portholes.

James made his way to his hammock, swinging himself up into it like he used to, when his life had been so different and his future unknown. Then, he’d had hope for a good standing and a respectable career. If only he’d known the pains he’d endure to keep such things. The coils of his mind constricted tightly together, choking out any other thoughts.

To occupy himself, he set about groping for the book that was somewhere in the seabag to his right. A pirate had lent him a well worn copy of the Odyssey. James had heard many of the tales, but he’d never read the book himself, having given up pursuits of reading literature once he’d joined the naval academy. The academy hadn’t allotted time for reading. It was something James struggled with; he was of a status that aloud him to mingle with the gentry, but he never understood their allusions to well-known works. It made him feel inferior and reminded him that he hadn’t been born into comfort or riches.

His family, admittedly, had been well off. His father, and admiral in the navy, had wanted nothing more than for his son to follow in his footsteps. Thus, James wasn’t given the chance to be as well educated as he might have been. His mother had argued the point, but with little success. Lawrence Norrington hadn’t been one to back down from an opinion, nor one to listen to his wife. He’d been strict with James. In this way, he’d made James into a disciplined young man capable of hiding his thoughts and feelings. James had always been told it was better to be seen than heard.

James found himself flipping to the section of the Odyssey concerning sirens. James wasn’t so alone in his curiosity of Merielle’s race as he had thought. Odysseus, after all, insisted he listen to the siren’s song, letting his men bind him to the mast to prevent his leaping overboard. The descriptions of the sirens, however, were all wrong. That they had feathers and features like a bird’s simply couldn’t be. James had never seen Merielle display birdlike features.

The sirens lured Odysseus in with flattery and the promise of knowledge. It was often said that sirens promised a man what he wanted most. And what, James thought, of him? Would they sing of a life marked by success? Or would they sing of a woman? If only he could hear their voices, that they might make up his mind for him, or at least clear it.

James closed the book. He didn’t like the descriptions in it. He preferred to think that all sirens were like Merielle. He sighed, leaning back and staring at the ceiling above him, letting his mind wander to several places long unexplored. Dark memories reached their icy fingers into his brain, and his anxieties flapped about in his chest like little bats, wings brushing the walls of his chest cavity. He sorely needed a distraction, for he would never sleep in such a state.

His distraction came in the form of a dark haired siren who’s feet were a little too soft on the floorboards. When her hand touched his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin, not having heard her approach. He turned his head to find Merielle standing beside him. He found the angle interesting; he’d never seen her from below. In fact, he rarely saw anyone from below, tall as he was.

Merielle was perhaps a full foot shorter than he was, save for when they were underwater and her tail made her longer by a good six inches. He smiled blearily up at her. Her fingers left their position at his shoulder to massage his scalp for a precious few seconds, and he nearly asked her to continue. It was a nice feeling, a domestic one.

She motioned with a hand, bidding him to follow her. She pointed up with a slender finger, telling him that they’d be going on deck. James shrugged and swung out of his perch, putting the novel back in the bag hanging from a nail on a support beam. He followed her to the warm outside air, taking deep lungfuls of fresh air. It wasn’t that the hull was so musty that he needed to, but he’d always found night air refreshing.

They stood, looking over the stars reflected in the sea below. Shadowy figures began climbing the rails as sirens curled up on deck for the night. They managed to stay out of the way of sailors and their work, but the sailors found the ordeal unsettling, especially due to the musical snores of the sirens. Men flinched every time sound came from the sleeping creatures.

“Did you want to talk about something?” James asked in a low voice.

Merielle shook her head. She had paper with her, but the gesture was enough to convey her words.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, or whatever the equivalent was, due to the height difference between them. The breeze tugged Merielle’s hair around, letting it swirl about. It came untucked from behind her ears, hiding her face from James’ gaze. He let his eyes linger on her a moment when he was sure she wasn’t watching him. He found something new in her each time he looked, like how her ears were just barely more pointed than a humans, or how her hands wandered to the space on her neck where her gills might have been.

She finally looked back at him, and he shifted his eyes to stare at the deck, a flush creeping up his neck. It was her turn to observe him, and God knew what she saw. What _did_ she see in him? A friend and a trustworthy companion? Or a suspicious figure who could betray her at any moment? She might notice his internal conflict just as easily as the scar under his chin.

He was relieved when she turned away again. It felt a bit awkward, standing without talking, just looking at one another. It was peaceful, but it did nothing to ease his state of mind. If anything, it made things worse, and his brain panicked for an answer to his problems.

Her fingers brushed his. Before he knew what he was doing, his treacherous body turned his hand so that it might hold hers. Surely he hadn’t done it voluntarily. He glanced at her to see how she would react. She only looked at him with a contemplative expression. But she did not pull away.

When she finally did take her hand away, it was to scratch something down in her notebook. Alice had fashioned her a new one, her old one having run out of space to write. She’d filled every bit of paper to the edges.

She handed it to him. _‘Do you remember when you were hurt? I came in to sit with you, and even though you must’ve been in terrible pain, you moved to hold my hand. You squeezed my hand three times. That was never part of our code. What were you trying to say?’_

“I wasn’t in as much pain as you imagine,” James muttered.

_‘You didn’t answer my question.’_

“I don’t think I had coherent thought at that moment.” James’ voice was a little hoarse. “I’m not sure it meant anything.”

_‘I don’t believe you.’_

They stared at each other, her eyes boring into his, searching for any answers. God, how he wanted to give them to her. He hoped she hadn’t noticed how, despite his caution, he’d let his eyes drop down to her lips for a split second before returning to meet hers. It was a tense moment between them, and James had the distinct feeling that he was being found out.

_‘Would you like a drink?’_

James relaxed. “Yes, that would be nice.” And it was, because when she turned away, James no longer felt like his soul was being picked apart by beautiful eyes.

He followed her to her cabin, where he carefully shut the door behind him. On his old desk sat a decanter of brandy. He supposed Barbossa had given it to her, and it was still full. She poured them each a glass and leaned against the desk. James watched her tilt her head back just the slightest amount as she drank, exposing the pale skin of her neck.

_‘It’s no fun to drink alone.’_

He accepted his glass. It was surprisingly smooth; he hand’t expected pirates to have such good taste. “Thank you.”

She nodded. They stood in silence for a long while, letting the other alone to their personal thoughts. When their glasses were empty, they refilled the glasses and each drank another. There was still a tension between them. James was tired, and he was so full of his own tension that he couldn’t deal with any more.

He took half a stride towards Merielle before stopping. She looked up from her cup, empty again, long lashes framing her eyes.

“You wanted to know what I meant,” he whispered. The shadows of the room were distorted, thrown off by the constant movement of the ship. “You wanted to know why three times.” They were still a solid few feet apart, and James was dangerously close to closing the space. He was afraid, though, too, what it meant for him if he did. “I think you know.”

She shook her head in denial.

“I think you’ve known longer than I have. Lord, I think I was the last person to know.” He hadn’t moved a muscle, save for setting his cup on the desk.

Again, she shook her head, but her eyes understood. They betrayed her, yet James didn’t know what she was thinking. There was such a mix of emotions on her face, and James could only hope that were positive.

Shaking, she took out her pen. _‘Say it.’ _Her handwriting was so shaky, he could hardly read it.

“Don’t make me,” he breathed.

_‘Say it!’_

“...I love you.” His voice finally cracked.

Nothing happened. She stared at him, her eyes impossibly wide, and he waited for her to give him any sign of how she felt. Nothing.

He panicked. He wanted to take back the words, swallow them and pull them from her ears. It had been foolish to admit his feelings, and now-

Her lips were against his in a deep kiss. She’d crossed the distance in a stride, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her lips meet his. He moved one hand to the small of her back and the other to her head, curling his fingers in her hair. It felt impossibly right, impossibly good.

She kissed with more heat than he’d expected, leaving him gasping when they pulled away for air. He was bewildered. The last thing he’d expected was to have _her_ kiss _him. _Especially like that.

He was reassured by the smile creeping up her features. He allowed himself to do the same, and he pulled her back for a gentler kiss, one they both sighed into. James lost track of time. Their embrace was a sweet one, and he could have stayed in it forever.

“You taste like brandy,” he whispered. A light breath tickled his cheek in response.

He ducked his head to kiss at her neck, rubbing his nose against the sensitive spot there. He kissed the place her gills would have been, earning a shudder from her. Though she couldn’t make any sound, the hitches in her breathing were enough for him. Pressed against her, he could feel the way her chest moved with her breathing, and he heard the little gasps of pleasure she released.

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt as he sucked at a spot of skin. He planted a kiss on the small bruise it left. She worked to get some space between them, moving her fingers to rip at his cravat. Once it was off, she attacked his neck, trailing kisses from his jaw to his collarbone. He found himself pinned against the desk. His head tilted back as her fingers decidedly untucked his shirt from his trousers, cold skin coming into contact with his lower stomach. An involuntary moan escaped his lips, only just loud enough to be heard.

She looked up from her administrations, eyeing him with mischief. Though she’d only unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt, she had him helpless. She nipped at soft skin, eliciting a gasp. He hadn’t thought she would be so assertive, but no matter how much he wished to pin her against something, the pleasure was too great.

He allowed her, for a while, to do as she wished before he grabbed her hips and spun her so that their positions were reversed. Her hands dropped down to the desk, and he was pleased to see how her arms shook. With this in mind, he shrugged the waistcoat off her frame. He returned her favor, unbuttoning the top of her shirt to reveal warm flesh underneath. The rise and fall of her chest didn’t help his self control in the slightest.

He returned to her mouth, their kisses full of passion. He let her explore his mouth with her tongue, and he allowed her to tug at his hair with her long fingers. He was panting when they broke the kiss, trying to regain some semblance of control or decency. They were both, he guessed, thoroughly disheveled, hair torn from its proper position and missing various items of clothing.

They kissed a while longer, but softer, breaking off every so often to rest their foreheads against one another. Merielle’s skin was warm through her shirt, and James had a certain temptation to remove the offensive article of clothing, but he decided against it. Instead, he kept his hands firmly where they were, resting on her hips, and breathed with her.

It was only when they were breathing at a steady pace that they dared look at each other. Merielle let out a breath of air that James had come to know as laughter in his time with her. She couldn’t make sound, of course, but he had realized some time ago what her version of laughter was like. James allowed himself a breathless chuckle. They were smiling like fools, and James relaxed, his muscles losing their usual tenseness.

Merielle massaged his neck, her nails tracing his flesh in a way that sent shivers down his spine. Satisfied, he picked her up, hands under her thighs, and carried her to the bed. There he set her, planting kissed on her forehead.

“I would stay here longer,” he said, voice husky, “but the men might become suspicious of all the time we’re spending in here. Goodnight, Merielle.”

She grabbed his hand, giving it three light squeezes.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

Oh lord, how sweet it was to say it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tensions are high and James worries.

James awoke to find mottled bruises under his collarbone. The previous night returned to him in flashes of sensation. He hardly remembered how anything looked, only how it had felt. He could still feel her cool fingers against his lower stomach, lightly tracing up his sides, pulling his shirt from where it had been tucked into his trousers. He groaned, falling back to the hammock beneath him where he sat.

He wanted nothing but more time with her. To take things slowly, and to act without fear of being caught. Her sudden passion had surprised him, but the more he thought of it, the less it should have. Hadn't she smiled at him with such radiance back in Cuba? Hadn't she held his hand until he fell asleep while he was injured? She'd loved him longer than he had originally noticed.

And lord, lord, how were they to be discreet? He had tried, exiting her cabin, to be as inconspicuous as possible, but anyone could see the mess of his hair, the rushed way in which his cravat had been tied, and how his shirt was still untucked despite the fact that he had re-buttoned it. There had been no chance of his escaping the room unseen, what with sailors working. Even though he'd taken the back door, the one opening to the dining room, men were sure to have seen him as he came into the sleeping area.

There would be rumors flying once he hit the deck. There was no way for him to be safe from suspicion, and his chest was growing hot where the marks were. He wondered about the ones flowering about her breasts, blushing with the thought of what they had done. He didn't rise from his hammock for a long while, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve as he thought about the previous night's affair.

James felt eyes on him once he walked out on deck. Every glance cast his way set off a little alarm in his head, but nobody seemed to be talking about it. He'd taken the time to fix his hair and cravat, and to tuck in his shirt properly. His waistcoat was only as rumpled as usual, being worn every day. Though it seemed to him that he was being watched, it was purely fantasy. In fact, and he knew it deep down, nobody suspected a thing. It wasn't unheard of that he spent time in her cabin.

It was only Jack that worried him. The pirate seemed to have noticed a change about James, and James didn't like it in the slightest. There was a shift in the pirate's gaze that hinted to the knowledge he carried, and the smirk growing on his face was nothing but telling.

Jack sauntered up to him, smile splitting his face. “Had a little fun last night, eh?” He whispered.

“I-I did no such thing!” James hissed. He glared at Sparrow, who only smiled wider.

“The flush on your face speaks for you mate.”

James could only look at him with derision, afraid that his speech would be too full of stuttered syllables to have the desired effect. James probably couldn't convince the pirate of his life if he tried. Instead, he let Sparrow have that knowledge, only cutting in with one remark. “I did not bed her, if that's what you think.”

“You can do other things than bedding, love.” Jack winked and strode off, leaving James steaming with embarrassment.

He watched Merielle from across the deck, ducking when they made eye contact. He was still in the mood to push her up against something. He would have even loved just kissing her forehead or holding her hand in a domestic manner. Either way, he wanted to be affectionate, but couldn't do so without hurting her reputation. Bugger his own; he could deal with pirates and their twisted minds, but he needed to keep space between them for her sake. Ah appearances, they mattered everywhere.

He grabbed breakfast from the mess hall, absentmindedly tapping his hardtack against the table. It was a common practice after so many years at sea. The habit came from the fact that small insects sometimes nested in the bread, and sailors were taught to try tapping them out. It was second nature to James, and he flinched when newer men forgot to do it.

It was during breakfast that he was approached by Gibbs, who sidled up to him where he sat. “Two ships were spotted on the horizon this morning. One at first light; we still can't make out her colors. The other was spotted just now. We think the Endeavor has been following us for days, and it's only now making a second appearance. If the second ship is Jimenez, and I have a feelin’ it is, then we're in trouble. I've advised Jack to change course, but that damned Barbossa won't hear of it.”

“That could be a problem.” James’ mouth went suddenly dry. Gibbs was sure to think that the Endeavor would fight against them, and thinking that, his analysis was correct. The Pearl and the Interceptor had a chance of fighting Jimenez one on two, but they couldn't fight the Endeavor at the same time. What Gibbs didn't know- couldn't know- was that the Endeavor wasn't against them, making his analysis incorrect, but James could hardly tell him such.

Again, James’ thoughts tore at him. Beckett's flagship might have done more harm than good in showing up. The pirates could turn away from a three on one fight and risk the chance of Jimenez acquiring more power. Another ship sailing beside Jimenez would be disastrous. How Beckett planned to use his ship, however, was beyond James’ knowledge. Perhaps the ship would engage in combat, but James rather doubted it. Beckett seemed like a man who would sit and watch, enjoying the show before picking up the scraps. The scraps being, of course, James and the rest of the naval men.

James cursed, heading up to the main deck. He needed to know what decisions were being made before he made his own. Beckett was counting on him to hand over the locket and compass, and if James didn't, it could result in a double battle. Not to mention, it would deny the others the right to return to Port Royal. He wanted to tear at his hair; the loyalty his men had shown was beyond words. To refuse Beckett would be to betray his men. That they still trusted him was amazing. He had it in mind to try promoting all of them if they got back home.

The ships were still sitting on the horizon, probably little closer than they had been when first spotted. They were both large, obviously larger than the Interceptor. James’ first order of business would be to identify them. If they weren't the ships he suspected they were, there would be no worry. If they were… well, he'd think about it later.

Merielle stood with a looking glass to her eye. James moved beside her, his arm brushing hers in the action. He surveyed the scene. The two other ships couldn't be too far apart from one another, and they must've held seventy two cannons at the least. The morning was brightening, and they were easier to see than they had been earlier.

“Can you tell what they're flying?” He asked.

Merielle paused before handing the looking glass to James and taking out her pen. _‘That one's definitely the Endeavor,’_ she wrote.

_Damn._ If Beckett's ship was near, it meant that he had, in fact, been trailing the pirates for days. Somehow, he'd kept track of them after they picked up the sirens. Which meant he possibly knew of their existence, or certainly would soon, and he could capture them for his own ends. _Damn again._

There was hardly a doubt that the other ship was Jimenez. James had hoped the fight would happen later rather than sooner, but he was faced with the fact that his difficult decision would have to be made. He couldn’t bring himself to think of it just then; he was still savoring the effects of the previous night. But even that pained him with guilt. He couldn’t think of her without thinking of what he could do to her. What would he be willing to lose to keep her?

There was a tangible tension on the two ships. James thought he could cut it with his cutlass if he tried, but he too added to the feeling. Everyone was stiff; people walked only when they needed to. They were otherwise still, staring out at what they knew to be a terrible fight. Nobody spoke as impending doom settled over the men.

Though they had multiple ships on their side, not to mention sirens, there was something about Jimenez that seemed undefeatable. There was a bit of trauma when James remembered all that had been done. Perhaps it was that Jimenez had broken James once before, and James feared the captain would do it again. He couldn’t survive another capture.

The day gave way to darkness, and the ships hadn’t yet engaged. James wondered why the Endeavor, so much closer to Jimenez, hadn’t started the fight. Surely Beckett’s flagship could hold its own with the Spaniard. James figured that Beckett would rather risk the lives of pirates than his own. The real question, then, was why Jimenez hadn’t attacked Beckett. The thought made a few unsettling notions come to mind, especially a certain fantasy that James harbored about being quickly demoted from captain to dead on Beckett’s orders. It didn’t sit well in his stomach.

It was as James went down to his hammock that Merielle appeared by his side. Gently pulling his arm, she took him the back way to her cabin. James found himself rather baffled. He wanted to kiss her again and to be with her, but his soul tore apart at the seams each time he saw her. It was only when her lips were on his and her fingers wormed their way under his shirt that he stopped thinking.

He let his mind slip away, trailing a number of kisses down her body. His lips traced her breasts and stomach through her thin shirt, leaving her trembling at his touch. She was eager to return the favor. James moaned when she tugged at his hair and sucked a spot on his neck. She had changed into her nightdress beforehand, and James found himself sliding a hand over the curves of her thighs, able to feel the heat of her body under the dress.

They finished their routine sometime later. James hadn’t bothered to keep track of the time through the experience. That he went to bed late on account of her, he cared little. She was resistant to his leaving, pulling him down into the bed with her, and quite literally, too. It ended as an awkward situation in which James was atop her, her body pressed just beneath his. A spark ran down the length of his frame. He pushed himself up, moving to lie next to her.

She groped about her bedside table, gripping at her paper. _‘Don’t go. This could very well be the last time we see each other alive. I want the chance to lie with you at least once.’_

It was a sweet, heartfelt confession, and James felt much the same. He stretched an arm out, and she crawled onto his chest, laying down her dark brown locks. He held her there, kissing her gently and cradling her until she was asleep. He let himself succumb to the weight of her body on his, and the steady rise and fall of her chest lured him to sleep.

It seemed all too soon that he had to wake. He stared up at the ceiling a while, unwilling to wake Merielle when he rose. She still slept curled on his chest, and a great feeling welled inside him. It stayed with him even after she woke, taking up all the breathing room in his lungs, forcing him to drown in a sea of his own emotion.

The ships were dangerously close come late morning. It was indeed Jimenez that they faced, his bloody sails and coal ship clearly visible. They were, unfortunately, sailing the same course. This meant that only one ship could engage, leaving the other helpless to watch. It was the same thinking as the tactic the Spaniard had previously employed, though not so devious. If the Interceptor could pull behind and around to the other side of the ship, Jimenez wouldn’t have a chance.

A disturbance had rippled through the waters throughout the morning. The sirens were anxious; the likely knew what Jimenez had done before, and they didn’t want the same fate to befall them. Sometimes, a head poked above water to see what it could. Mouths open above water for air, the rows of sharp teeth visible. Powerful bodies lurked just beneath the surface. Each siren was a rippling mass of muscle and cartilage, their sharp scales protecting them from harm. James figured the scales would do little against gunfire, but he said nothing, hanging onto the hope that the sirens could help.

By midday, the ships were pulling up alongside each other. The Endeavor still hung back, like a shark awaiting the first spilled drop of blood. The Interceptor dropped back, trying to position itself that it might slip around to the other side of Jimenez’s ship. There was dead silence, the crew anticipating the announcement that they were in range to fire.

They didn’t have to wait long. Once there was the slightest chance cannonfire might hit the Spanish vessel, the guns were brought out. The first volley missed its intended target save for a few shots that managed to span the distance. The Spaniards made their rebuttal, firing shots of their own. A cannonball struck the prow of the ship, mutilating the figurehead. In an instant, the silence that had so stuck to the air was gone, enveloped by the noise of cannons and shouts. Muskets were loaded and men prepared to fire. Two sets of gunners faced each other off, trying to time when to take the first shot.

Men fell on both sides at once. There was the splintering of wood and the cries of the dying. Red stained shirts and breeches held men collapsing like wet rags on deck, many of which would never rise again. James watched men he’d known for months die to his right and left. Jimenez had effective snipers, much more so than James’ own crew.

Thankfully, the Pearl didn’t suffer as much damage as James initially anticipated. Every time he had fought the Spaniard before, his ships had been demolished by cannonfire. Now, in a larger ship, and with more deckhands, James felt more secure. Barbossa’s ship was still significantly smaller than its opponent, but it could hold its ground. James was beginning to gain some confidence in the fight.

Jimenez stepped out on deck, armed with a cutlass and two pistols strapped to his chest. He looked James dead in the eye, his red coat like the splotches of death on the breasts of the fallen. Lace poured out of the collar, and he carried himself with that same haughty air James had first seen. James grimaced, keeping eye contact with the man, daring him to look away. He wouldn’t be defeated so easily again, but his initial hope was starting to fade. There was something about facing Jimenez that told him he couldn’t win.

_May the best of us survive, and may the other go down to the locker._


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fight against Jimenez continues.

The _Interceptor _succeeded in its mission. With two ships against Jimenez’s one, the Spaniard was having a harder time than he might have first thought. His ship, receiving fire from two sides, was taking considerable damage. His gun crew was spread out to man both sides, and he had to send deckhands to help. This left him more susceptible to being boarded, though James knew that boarding might be a long way off.

Unfortunately, the _Interceptor _ran into the expected amount of trouble. Though James couldn’t see it well from where he stood, only able to see the masts, he could hear the splintering of wood. He worried about the _Pearl, _too, as iron cracked through her hull. It was when projectiles were set on fire and launched at the sails that James truly began to worry. With an order, he sent six men to put out the fires starting in the canvas.

A surprising round of grapeshot peppered the deck. Two of the six men dropped to the deck, writhing in agony. Others were flopping about, red stains spreading over their clothes. Guns onboard the Spaniard’s ship were loaded and ready to fire, and another round sprayed out. The sailors had the good sense to prepare for the second round, running behind whatever they could find. If they couldn’t, they simply lay on deck, hoping the shot would pass over them. James crouched behind a balustrade on the stairs, trying to get to the lower deck without being killed.

Other men took up the positions of the fallen. The fires were put out, and guns were loaded. A ball cracked through the staircase on the Spanish ship, sending men flying into the waves below. With morbid curiosity, James watched in utter horror as hands reached up from the deep, pulling any survivors down with them. The last thing they would see would be a pretty face before they were torn limb from limb.

A few of Jimenez’s goons had managed to make their way onto the _Pearl,_ claiming territory bit by bit. As they stood their ground, more joined them, until they had conquered a small space to themselves. Mainly, their success was due to the lack of pistols had by James’ crew, and that they weren’t worried about another round of grapeshot. James swore, heading down to face the problem himself.

He shot a man at close range and stabbed another, trying not to get killed in the process. It reminded him of the battles he’d had as a proper captain. All battles were the same. A mad scramble of man pitted against man, neither any better than the other in the eyes of God, but one returning to the father none the less. James couldn’t call himself a devout Christian, but he certainly hoped that when he died, his soul wouldn’t spend eternity lost at sea. He wanted the reassurance that death was not the end.

Seeing the life drain out of somebody’s eyes spoke differently. James hardly looked at his opponents; he’d only stared at a man once. The first time James had taken a life, it had been horrific. He could still remember the tears in the eyes of a boy no older than he had been at the time, and the sweat dripping down the side of his face. Blood, too, everywhere across the boy’s chest, and the ragged final breaths followed by the silence signifying death. James had never looked again upon someone who was dying, only sparing a quick glance at the felled bodies after the battle was done.

The most upsetting stage of the battle took place as the sirens came up from the depths. There they lurked with large eyes and sharp teeth, awaiting the drowning men. The only plus side to it was that any man lost to the ocean from James’ crew was regurgitated back on deck. Otherwise, men were devoured by sirens who hadn’t seen meat in weeks. The sirens leapt from the water, using their tails to propel themselves into the air. Like sharks, they brought down men trying to make their way between ships. All James would have to do was to push a man overboard and the sirens would do the rest of the work.

Some of them traded tails for legs, coming onto deck when needed. The men killed by grapeshot were replaced by able, willing bodies. The sirens were often more deadly than their human counterparts, ripping into flesh with needle-sharp canines. Their nails marked faces, their dark eyes inspiring fear in the hearts of every man onboard. James could only marvel at it, and hope like hell that the sirens didn’t turn on them in a cruel twist of fate.

James found himself on Jimenez’s ship, his boots striking the familiar wood. A line had carried him across; he’d used it to swing himself between ships. Thus, he proceeded to kill the men around him. There were a few of his own men about, fighting off the souls Jimenez had elected to keep on deck. The rest were below, giving James a significant advantage should the rest of the _Pearl’s _deckhands find their way to other ship. James cut through men, and though it seemed like he’d killed hundreds, he’d only faced a handful of people if he combined the day’s experiences.

Jimenez stood on the quarterdeck looking down over the proceedings. Nobody had made their way up the stairs, and only one banister still existed. The other had been blown to bits. James worked his way in that direction, trying to get to Jimenez while he still could. The pirate carried himself a little differently than James remembered, his orders given in a strained voice and his pacing frantic.

James was alone, the sole member of his crew to make it to the quarterdeck. He stood for a moment, panting, and observing the new fear with which he was regarded. Jimenez stared back at him, the glint in his eye born of fury rather than arrogance. James knew what he looked like then. He was so different from the man he’d been only a scant two months ago. He stood with confidence, the reserve he had once shown gone, and the fear he had carried deserted.

He cocked his pistol, aiming dead at Jimenez’s chest. His head tilted back ever so slightly, and his body relaxed as he worked to catch his breath. He was disheveled; his hair was in utter disarray, his shirt was smeared with blood that wasn’t his, and the circles under his eyes were the worst they had ever been. There was nothing about him that spoke of the man he had been, only a new person, a man more deadly and less afraid. Feral. That was how it felt to him, that in his time among thieves, he had let himself adopt a piece of their nature. How careful he had once been to appear the height of civility. His face twisted into a grimace at the thought.

It would be an anticlimactic ending, not a demise anyone would describe as poetic. But then, when was death ever fitting? It was only so in literature. Life was much different; it was crueler, and it didn’t come to a satisfying end. But James found some small, disturbing pride that Jimenez was looking down the barrel of _his_ gun.

His thoughts, and aim, were interrupted by a jarring of the ship. It sent James sprawling, as well as everyone else on deck. James watched Jimenez roll toward the helm as James rolled away from it. Thankfully, his blasted pistol didn’t go off when he fell. He could’ve easily shot himself.

He looked around, trying to discern the cause for such impact. He noticed the smoking guns on the _Pearl, _and that the ship seemed to be taking a break from firing its cannons. The gunners had fired at the same time, hitting Jimenez’s ship with a full broadside blow. It rocked the ship to one side, allowing the _Interceptor _to do the same, though not to the same effect. Holes littered the side of the Spanish vessel, spaces blown wide open by cannon fire. The effect was staggering; multiple cannons and men fell into the sea below.

And, to everyone’s horror, the sirens emerged. Not only did they grab at sailors’ arms, legs, and waists, but they pulled themselves onto the ship. Transforming, they ripped through lines of men. Still, the men put up a good fight, and there were a good deal more of Jimenez’s crew aboard than sirens, though the sirens struck fear into every soul with the liberal use of their teeth and application of dagger-like claws.

Still the battle raged. Jimenez had a well equipped ship. There were more men on it than on the _Interceptor _and _Pearl_ combined. James had won battles with less, but never had he fought such vicious opponents. The crew was amazing at cornering and killing victims instead of fighting one on one. He supposed it was Jimenez’s tactic. A larger crew could fight in pairs, helping each other to defeat their adversary. The method was effective; James watched multiple of his own men fall to a cluster of Spaniards.

James scrambled to his feet, only for the deck to be hit with another concussion. A ball and chain had been fired, successfully hitting a mast. It wasn’t the mainmast, instead hitting the mizzenmast. The splintering beam fell forward, creaking as it fell. Then, with a snap, it hit the deck. James had been fortunate enough to be close to the railings, out of the way of the falling mast. Many others were not so lucky. James watched a group of men collapse under the weight of the mast, their spines and other bones snapping. The sound was unsavory.

Jimenez, James noticed, had rolled out of the way. He had no chance of escape with his mizzenmast felled, not that he’d had the chance in the first place, but he couldn’t outrun his enemies with only two masts. This left him in a position where he had to fight. The only other option was death, and James didn’t think the captain would go gently into that good night so soon.

Finally, James managed to get to his feet. He was separated from his adversary by the mast, and, now that Jimenez was aware of him, vaulting it would end in his death. He couldn’t get over or under the beam without being shot or stabbed, and neither fates sounding appealing. He would have to catch the man somewhere else. It was a daunting task, not only because it put him in uncertain circumstances, but because he didn’t know if he could catch Jimenez unawares again.

James was effectively hating every minute of the fight. He was growing tired; it wasn’t a reassuring sign. He teamed up with a small gang of men to fight his way out of a corner. Fighting alongside the men he had once called enemies was an eye-opening experience, and James was beginning to realize that his pent up hatred for pirates was slowly dissipating. If only Beckett hadn’t sent him on his mission, perhaps James would be a less confused man. Life had been simpler when he could mindlessly hate people.

More sailors were crossing between decks. The decks of all three ships were a motley crew of all different people. James’ naval men crossed swords with Spaniards, and the Spaniards shot at sailors from Tortuga who stood back to back with the relentless pirates of Barbossa’s crew.

All trains of thought left James’ mind. Jab, parry, slash, evade. His patterns hardly varied, and if anyone had payed attention, they would’ve easily found a chink in his armor. But everyone was as tired as he, if not more so, and nobody cared to analyze how their opponent fought. All that mattered were the movements. All that mattered was staying alive.

Stab.

Step back.

Parry.

Thrust.

Duck.

The only variance James got was when a man drew a pistol. James either jumped in to stab them before they could get their weapon cocked, or he let them miss. If he swerved, he found with one man, they would shoot just over his right shoulder. The sensation wasn’t comforting, but sometimes a man was too far away for James to jut out and stab them. Those in range died by the sword.

The grip of his sword was becoming hard to hold. Sweat made it slick in his hands, not to mention the blood that gored him. Small splatters adorned his clothes, standing out against the light cloth. Some made its way onto his hands, making it difficult to keep his grip. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and a small, annoying stream trickled down his spine. His breathing was gradually becoming more labored. He hadn’t fought so hard in a long time, perhaps even in his entire life. The ringing in his ears was just starting to block the rest of the world out; James had to shake himself to keep focused.

It was when he spotted Merielle across the deck, her saber gleaming in the light, rays bouncing off the blade, that he truly came to his senses. Everything that had seemed muted came into sharp focus. He was acutely aware of the sounds, smells, and sights around him. He took in the pair of men dueling near the stairs, and the three with guns pointed between each other. He saw the flash of pistols and heard the clatter of swords hitting the deck as their wielders passed on from life.

He also saw the lush, red coat and extravagant lace spilling from the cuffs. The lace moved from its position at the coat’s side to the air beyond it. The lace held a hand, one covered in gold rings and jewels from all nations. As if reaching out from smoke, the hand extended. It could have been a graceful movement if it hadn’t signified death. The hand held something, the pad of a thumb pressing down on a small button...

James didn’t think about his actions at all. He simply moved, like he had so many times before, but with so much more meaning than he had ever had cause to have. No hesitation, no thought, no hitch in his movement. It was as if he was watching the scene from outside his body. It didn’t feel like anything was happening; the entire situation seemed unreal.

He wasn’t sure who pulled the trigger first, but the resounding ring of gunfire filled the air as a body crumpled to the deck.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James must make a decision.

Jimenez’s form crumpled to the deck. No blood was visible before it pooled on the ground due to the color of his coat, but James was sure the pirate was dead. A look of confusion split his face from one side to the next. He hadn’t seen his impending doom- he couldn’t have, what with his focus solely on Merielle. The shot left him on the ground, his pistol unfired, the lace around his fingers laying limp and growing damp as his blood seeped through the fine fabric.

The ship was taken not long after. A stretch of confusion followed Jiminez’s death, and James used it to his advantage, sneaking up to the corpse and ridding it of the locket hanging around its neck. Merielle, distracted with other things, didn’t notice. She was busy with a young Spanish boy, one she dispatched in moments.

When the remainder of Jimenez’s men surrendered, Barbossa claimed the vessel. Orderwas only beginning to be established. Most men were in shock after such a battle, and all were weary. It took a good while to get organized, not to mention cut away the mast that had been felled. James worked on this so he wouldn’t be confronted by Merielle, and so he had less time to think about his guilt.

The _Endeavor _gained steady ground on them. The ships couldn’t set a course without the captains conferring amongst one another, and the ships were in no shape to sail at full speed. Each had its own damages; broken masts, holes, leaking hulls, and the like. Most of the damage was of little consequence, but it hampered their travel none the less. Thus, the ships stood still like sitting ducks, awaiting Beckett’s arrival.

James found Jack chewing his fingernails, watching the scurrying about with no little worry. His eyes flicked towards the _Endeavor _frequently, betraying his fear. James knew that Jack and Beckett had some sort of past, if only by the brand on Jack’s wrist. The East India Trading Company used such brands to keep track of their enemies. James could only imagine the cruel pleasure with which Beckett had likely set the blistering metal on the pirate’s skin.

Jack pulled out his compass, and James felt his breath hitch.

Barbossa strode up to Jack, engaging him in conversation. Sufficiently distracted, Jack momentarily set down the compass and turned to his companion. James didn’t hesitate. He walked by, as if in passing, grabbed the compass, and kept it out of the pirate’s view. He then descended into the hold for a short while, ordering men about to see how many extra hammocks the Spanish ship carried.

James, with both necessary objects in his possession, panicked. His throat was exceedingly dry, and his palms were sweatier than they had been while fighting. He cursed himself for ditching his coat; it would have proven a useful place in which to hide things.

Trying to distract himself, he wondered how many men would be sent to the Spanish ship. The crew would be split up again, and the newest additions distributed evenly among ships. Due to the loss of crew on all sides, the three ships would be a bit thin on men. James, in his state of mind, couldn’t come up with an answer.

In fact, he could hardly come up with coherent thought. His mind was an anxious stream of worries, one pouring out and another taking is place. He wondered how his men would react to Beckett, and if they would betray his original intentions. He wondered whether they’d even want to return home. Some seemed happy enough where they were. He wondered whether Merielle would show anger when she found out, for it was certainly only a matter of time, or if she’d despair. Or, perhaps she would simply stare at him, her dark eyes regarding him with the same coldness they once had, if not more. Would she seek out revenge? She’d done it once already.

In truth, James didn’t even know what he wanted. He wanted everything to be over, was what, but he couldn’t get to that point without making important decisions. How he could ever know which was the right path to choose was beyond his ken. He focused on steadying his breathing, which had become uneven and shallow. If only he could calm himself...

The deck was abuzz with activity. The last of the mast had been successfully cleared away, and bodies were being wrapped in canvas or dumped unceremoniously over the edge of the ship’s rails. There was much space taken up by crumpled forms, and the ship was beginning to look cleaner without them.

The second thing that James noticed was that Beckett loomed right over them. The _Endeavor _peeked over all their shoulders. It was an awful feeling, to have Beckett so close. There was apprehension among everyone onboard the three ships.

“Steady, men,” James said softly to a group of naval men. They turned to look at him, and he gave them a pointed glance. A few of them practically sagged with relief, but others looked almost disappointed. When the time came, they would chose their path.

Merielle rushed up to him hurriedly, and his guilt increased tenfold. _‘I can’t find it!’ _Tears obscured her vision, and her hands were shaking terribly. _‘He wasn’t wearing it! What if he threw it over the side in a final act of spite? What if he’s hidden it somewhere I’ll never find?’_

James played with the hem of his shirt. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere. I don’t think he could have parted with it had he tried. It’s likely in a room somewhere aboard the ship.”

_‘But...’ _she began to scribble.

James lifted her hand from the paper. “You’ll find it, I’m sure of it.”

She gazed up at him with glassy eyes, her hair sticking out in all directions from the bun she’d had it in. _‘I’m scared.’_

“I know.”

She squeezed his hand three times, and he thought he might puke on the spot. He didn’t deserve her affection. The locket rested cold and heavy against his breast. It was small enough that when tucked under a shirt, it couldn’t be seen, especially when the shirt’s collar was fastened.

If Merielle noticed that his collar was fastened for the first time in months, she said nothing. James would have liked to have held her, but he was afraid his body would be treacherous and give away his inner emotions. Not to mention, though the locket was well hidden from sight, she could easily feel it through fabric.

It was with agony that he tore himself away from her, forcing himself to face the fast approaching _Endeavor. _It would overtake them in mere minutes. James’ breathing sped up, and he was sure everyone on deck noticed his change in demeanor. Everyone looked upon the ship with apprehension.

When the ship was upon them, it cut a space between the _Pearl _and what used to be Jimenez’s ship. Men scurried belowdecks to man the cannons, but were brought back up when one of Beckett’s men announced that they meant no harm. Warily, everyone stood on deck to see what was to happen.

Beckett strode across the deck, his diminutive stature clear compared to the rest of the men onboard his ship. A slight grin tugged at his lips when he located James within the crowd, and their eyes met for a brief moment. Beckett adjusted his gaze so he was looking out over the assembled men. He had an air of authority about him no matter where he was, no matter the situation, and no matter who he was dealing with. It was, to say the least, quite unnerving.

“I’m afraid there are sailors I need to collect.” Everyone was so silent, his words could be heard across all four decks without his needing to yell. “To all of you who stayed with Mr. Norrington: I would be most grateful if you returned to your posts. You’ve done an admirable job.”

Heads swiveled about. The naval men stared down at their feet, each too ashamed to meet anyone’s eyes. James watched as Alice stared, clearly hurt, at Groves. Groves had his eyes closed and lips pursed. The same reaction occurred through much of he crowd. Pirates stepped away from their naval counterparts, looking stricken. Some spit in the direction of the betrayers, while others stood too shocked for actions.

“We should’ve known they’d turn on us,” James heard someone say.

The naval men, now isolated from the others, began to raise their heads. Some looked to Beckett, or friends on the other ship, while others looked to James. James only hoped he looked as miserable as they felt.

Merielle stared at James with a mix of hatred and betrayal, the pain in her features obvious. He didn’t bother saying anything. He didn’t want to feel her push him away; she was already doing so mentally. Her expression changed every few seconds, forming from various stages of pain, to fury, and then to a resigned sort of acceptance.

_Let me go,_ he thought. _Let me go, and don’t think of me again. Push me out of your heart. Don’t let me hurt you._

But the damage had already been done. If only she knew all of it, it would save her grief. When she found out just how deeply his betrayal ran...

“I hope you all wish to return home. Your families and friends miss you dearly,” Beckett stated.

Boards were laid out between decks. The first footsteps were taken by an officer after a long hesitation. Without looking about himself or pausing, he walked confidently to the _Endeavor. _As James watched him, he couldn’t help but notice the haunted look in the man’s eyes.

Men made their way over from the _Interceptor, _too, slowly but surely leaving their life of piracy for the comforts of home. Beckett’s eyes focused on those returning to him, and James took advantage of the moment. There was a quiet thud, but it was masked by the sounds of walking feet. James, for his part, stood his ground, a shaking hand resting on the railing before him.

“Mr. Norrington,” Beckett taunted, “Do you have what I asked of you?”

James breathed in shakily, praying that his voice would sound calm when he spoke. “Yes, sir,” he said. His voice didn’t crack, nor did it betray emotion, trained to not give away any inkling of what thoughts resided in his head.

“Don’t be bashful, step up, claim your reward.”

Beckett’s voice made him sick. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t get his legs to move from where he stood. Uselessly, he tried convincing his body to walk. He looked at the ground by his feet. Bright metal winked up at him, half hidden by his boot.

And, without thinking, his body moved of its own accord. His throat closed as he walked, but there was no looking back for him. He was to have no regrets. If he looked back, he would see her eyes on him, and he would hate himself. He would not allow himself that sorrow, indeed, he would not allow Beckett the satisfaction of seeing it.

And just like the first man, he walked onto the _Endeavor _without looking back. The compass he had in a pocket, and as he walked by, Beckett stuck out a hand. James placed the device roughly in his palm and walked on, but Beckett pulled him harshly back by the arm. For such a small man, his grip was painful.

“And the other, more precious item?” He intoned.

“I didn’t find the locket, sir.” James intentionally raised his voice, hoping that Merielle might hear him. “Jimenez must’ve left it to the sea before his death.”

“I highly doubt that,” Beckett hissed. His voice was so soft and so close to his ear that only James heard. But there was no mistaking the malice in it. Beckett’s hand grew tighter around James’ arm, something he hadn’t thought possible. Beckett released him abruptly, looking back upon the pirates.

James sauntered down to the lower decks, hoping he could find a hammock in which to sleep and forget his sorrows, but not before he heard Beckett’s parting words.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” His voice was louder than before, meant to be heard across all four ships. “But don’t blame the fine men who accompanied you. They didn’t know what their mission was beyond following orders. You can be assured that only Mr. Norrington knew the full details.”

James paused on the stairs, cursing Beckett with every fiber of his being. The man’s lilting voice would haunt him for days to come, perhaps even weeks. Perhaps forever. A wetness covered James’ cheeks that hadn’t been there before. He descended into the belly of the ship with a stiffness he wouldn’t have otherwise had.

Once out of sight, he collapsed against a wall. There, he let the tears flow freely, only keeping control of the noise he made. With a hand pressed against his mouth, he released only a few whimpers, pathetic noises that made him hate himself the more. He found that as steady as his sea legs were, they wouldn’t hold him. Careful not to hit the floor loudly, he slowly let his body slide down the wall until he was sitting with a knee bent up to his chest and the other leg stretched in front of him.

He could see Merielle’s face in front of him, clear as day. He could see the look of betrayal, and he could only imagine how she’d looked at Beckett. Surely they had made eye contact during those last words. Surely she’d stared at him with all the contempt she could muster. And surely he’d only smirked back, watching the pain dance behind her eyes with perverted pleasure.

Oh lord, he could practically feel her. Those nights together, the soft touch of her lips against his skin, her fingers teasing their way beneath his shirt...

And farther back than that. Her smile. The way she looped her hair around a finger when she was thinking. The shimmer of her scales. The way they had danced together in Cuba. How light she had been when he had carried her, shaking, from the beam that had crushed her tail. The shadows dancing across her face in the stale air of Jimenez’s brig. Her wide eyes and dark hair that first time he’d seen her. Suddenly, Port Royal felt so long ago. Suddenly, it no longer felt like home.

What had he given her up for?

_“‘Who’s really more dangerous, mate; a man who can kill you, or a woman who can steal your heart and keep it?’”_


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James' life doesn't end up as expected.

Merielle slumped in her bed aboard the _Pearl. _She couldn’t bring herself to stay in Jimenez’s old room, and she had no desire to sleep in a bed that had once belonged to James. She curled up on the _Pearl, _trying not to think about the times she and James had kissed in that very room. No matter where she was, each ship held separate memories of him, and ghosts haunted each room.

Had he cared for her? Or had he just used her? He was a good actor, better than she would’ve thought him to be, if that was the case. He’d had her convinced that he loved her, that he would stay with her, that he wanted to help her. It was hard to believe that he’d been using her to get at something. And what it was, she didn’t know.

Hadn’t Jimenez done the very same thing? The Spaniard had her thinking that he loved her, only to use her for his own ends. When would she ever learn? Never again would she give her heart to a man, and never again would she be fooled by kind words.

But when she reflected on it all, the two relationships seemed so different. Jimenez had been young and charming, his smooth words and slippery smiles had filled her with a flurry of passion. James had been entirely different. She’d been so hesitant to give herself over to him; she hadn’t even liked him that much in the beginning. At some point, something grew between them, slowly but surely, and Merielle could have sworn it was love.

It hurt. To the very depths of her soul. She imagined it was what drowning felt like, not that she’d ever know; submerged, surrounded with no escape. She was plunging herself into a misery from which she wasn’t sure she could escape. She no longer knew how to swim. She was drifting aimlessly, floundering about in a sea of despair. She needed a buoy to cling to, but there was none, only open ocean. The last buoy she’d latched onto had turned into a rock, pulling her forever downwards.

Still sniffling, she pulled the covers above her head as if she could use them to hide from the dark thoughts. It didn’t work, of course, and she felt no better than she had earlier. She had no more tears left to cry, though, as she’d let them all loose the moment the _Endeavor _had pulled away. She hadn’t cared who saw her. It didn’t matter what they thought. No, she cried silent tears, her sobs caught in her throat, no noise escaping her barren voice box.

A soft knocking sounded at the door. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, so she ignored it, hoping whoever it was would leave. She adjusted her position under the blankets, finding a more comfortable way to lie down. She only wanted to sleep away her sorrows. She’d awake empty, and that was fine. She’d rather feel that way than like she did now, so full to the brim of emotions that her chest hurt and she thought she might burst into tiny pieces to be strewn across the floorboards.

The knocking sounded again, and Merielle almost got up to send the person away. Any news there was to be had could be told to her later. Barbossa was itching to leave, she knew that much. Tia Dalma had told him what he wanted to know about his curse, and he wanted to put an end to it once and for all. The ships were drifting aimlessly without Jack’s compass, which James had obviously given to Beckett.

“Ma’am,” hissed a soft voice. “There be something ye might want to be seein’, ma’am.”

Reluctantly, Merielle climbed out of bed, opening the door a sliver before retreating back into her chambers. She sat back on the bed, slumped over like a cripple.

Gibbs entered the room, closely followed by Alice, who held something in her hand. They stood across from her, leaning against the little table in the center of the room. Alice poured herself a glass of brandy. She hadn’t been too happy with James either, nor was she happy with Groves- Theo, as she called him. She handed a glass to Merielle, who took it without prompting. When both had taken a swig, conversation started.

“I figured you might want to see this,” Alice said. “Gibbs found it not too long ago. It was just sitting on deck.”

“I knew ye were lookin’ for somethin’ of the sort, miss.” Gibbs fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt. “It seems that naval boy wasn’t so bad after all.”

With that, Alice grabbed Merielle’s hand, lifting it off the bed, and opened the siren’s palm to place something there. Merielle stared at Alice’s face, too tired to look at what was being handed to her. A cold weight sat in her hand, some sort of metal. A chain followed it, and Merielle’s breath caught in her throat.

“He must’ve been wearing it. He dropped it there in hopes someone would find it,” said Gibbs. “He didn’t have the heart to take it from you.”

Merielle blinked. Tears came to her eyes, welling up and spilling over onto already red cheeks. She hadn’t thought she could cry any more, but renewed feelings forced the liquid over her cheeks and off the end of her chin. She was relieved, and for more reasons than one.

She’d suspected that James had taken the locket with him. He’d mentioned it to Beckett, after all, even if he’d denied having it. Merielle figured that the statement had been for her, so she wouldn’t think that he’d taken it. Now, she realized that his words were to hint to her that he’d left it for her.

Finally, after months, she had it back. Her voice was hers. The other sirens had long left the company, preferring to return to the depths. It was a shame they wouldn’t be there the first time she used her voice again.

She was ecstatic. A smile split her features, and she got up, tears still flowing, to go find Tia Dalma. It was time she had her voice again.

~~~~~

It had been a month. A wretched, awful, disgusting month. James had pledged himself to his work, trying to distract himself. But nobody could deny that he was different. More irritable, less rational, and more tired. He was always tired. It was hard for him to sleep by himself, to live with the choice he’d made. A permanent scowl was etched across his face, and his inferiors jumped out of his way when he walked by, eager to avoid his sharp words. He snapped at people, and the men had begun to fear him. He felt awful about it all, but he could hardly change it.

Even the governor was wary around him. Where the man used to drone on about things, some which interested James and others that didn’t, he had taken to keeping their conversations brief. It annoyed James to no end anyway.

He felt a little explosive. He wasn’t the same man as he’d been before, and it was both tiring and confusing. And Beckett’s behavior didn’t help. With him in charge of everything, the fort was more like a prison to the workers than it was to the actual prisoners. Beckett had noticed James’ shift in attitude, and the man had had the audacity to smirk about it. James wanted to wipe it right off his face, breaking the man’s nose in the process. He had refrained, of course, but it pained him to do so.

He was unhappy. It didn't take a genius to figure it out, but hardly anyone suspected the reason behind his behavior. Groves understood, having been good friends with Alice, and perhaps wishing to be a bit more. But he didn't understand the full extent of James feelings, as was to be expected, because he hadn't knowingly used someone he’d grown to care for. Some of the other men had their suspicions, of course, but James would have refused to talk about the matter even if someone had asked. 

Jack's compass sat in Beckett's office on display for all to see. James walked by it daily, and he would have given anything for Beckett to hide it somewhere. He didn't need to be reminded of what he'd done. Yet he had a strange attraction to the compass, a need to know where it would point should he look into it.

It was a stiflingly hot afternoon when Beckett called upon him. The man was dressed lavishly as usual, and he sat slumped in a chair, a glass of brandy in hand.

“Awful day, isn't it?” Beckett glanced out over the sunlit town. “I have an assignment for you,Commodore.”

The words were specifically enunciated so James was reminded of the precarious position he was in. Not that he ever forgot.

“I need you to get rid of a few ships sailing through these waters. Pirates are dangerous folk. They'll be somewhere around Cuba; it was reported that they sacked a little coastal city not too long ago. You have five days before you're to depart.” He rose from his chair, striding to the other side of the room. “Good day, Commodore. Tell Mercer to lock the door after you.”

With that, he was gone, and James was left to his own devices in the room. It wasn't spacious, exactly, but it was better than anything James had ever worked in. It had massive windows to let in the light, and a small balcony outside for one to stand in and get fresh air. James wasn't attracted to any of these details. He was attracted to the compass lying squarely in the middle of the desk, and the knowledge that he had very deep pockets.

He might've been satisfied with his rise in station once. The promotion had only made him more miserable, however, and he hated being addressed by his title. It wasn't worth its salt.

Mercer was a shrewd man, but he didn't step into the office, only locking the door behind James. There was nobody to notice the missing item.

It would be easy enough. He'd ditch his uniform, trading it for something casual, and he'd find passage from the harbor to the other side of Jamaica. From there, he'd work his way to Tortuga. It was the exact reverse of what he'd done previously, creating a bit of irony in his situation. He could use the compass to find Merielle, or he could wait until she found him, though living in Tortuga didn't seem appealing.

He was aware that eyes were on him once he entered the lunch room, and eyes were on him as he left to carry his tray back to his office. Once enough people were gathered in the mess hall, he'd be able to leave with little supervision. It wouldn't take Beckett too long to find what he was missing.

It was just as James stepped out of his office, took a deep breath, and locked the door behind him that Groves appeared.

“Where are you going so early in the day, sir?”

Groves called him ‘sir’, which tugged a little at James’ heart. They could've been friends, under different circumstances. “Home. I'm afraid I'm not feeling well.”

“There are quite a few of us who feel ill, sir. I just hope you aren't gone too long.”

James thanked him and went to move past him, but Groves grabbed his arm.

“And sir,” he said softly, “I would like it if you didn't leave without saying goodbye.”

James found it a little harder to breathe. “I'll be calling upon a physician tonight, lieutenant.” He hoped Groves would understand.

James packed his things once he arrived home. Then, he set off to find an inn to hang around for the afternoon. He wasn't so stupid as to let Beckett catch him at his own house.

When he arrived at the docks, there was a small group of men already waiting, Groves among them.

“We wondered if you might tolerate our company, sir,” said Groves.

It wasn't until much too late that the town noticed their absence. By then, they were making port on the other side of Jamaica.

~~~~~

James’ feet hit the deck of the _Interceptor _for the first time in over three months. It had been a long, trying journey; finding Merielle and Jack had proved much harder than expected. Even with the compass at his disposal, it had been hard to intercept them. There had been no way to tell when the ships docked for supplies, as the compass only indicated so much. Thus, it had been at sea that James had caught up to the ships. He, along with many of the others, had procured jobs upon a fishing boat. James had lied his way into convincing the captain of an area densely populated with fish. In reality, it had been the location of the two pirate vessels.

His boots hit the deck with a satisfying thud. The _Pearl _was nowhere in sight. No doubt Barbossa had left as soon as Tia Dalma had told him what information he had so desperately wanted to know. There were new deckhands about, scurrying around to carry out orders. The two ships had easily surrounded the fishing boat and plundered it of what little money it carried. Upon being spotted by Jack, a different type of cargo had been captured.

James hardly had time to look about him before arms were around his neck. He staggered back, letting his arms close about Merielle’s waist and his fingers tangle through her long hair. Her face was pressed into the side of his neck, and he could feel feathery breaths against his skin. He pressed a slow, nervous kiss to her temple, unsure of where he stood with her. She held onto him a moment more before drawing away.

“You left it for me,” she breathed.

James felt as if he’d been struck. He hadn’t heard her voice, and was unaccustomed to the sound. Her speech was like a melody, each word rising and falling as if with song. The very air shimmered with the sound. Her tongue was silver, and the words falling from her lips honey. It was an ambrosia for James to get drunk on. Even in the few words she’d spoken, James knew he could listen to her forever.

“How could I have taken it from you?” His own voice sounded thick with emotion.

“I thought you had betrayed me.”

“Never,” he choked.

She stepped in, just as she had that very first time, and kissed him. It was different, now, more desperate than their affection had ever been before. He cupped her cheek with one of his hands as hers rested against his neck. His other hand trailed down to the small of her back, where he effectively pulled her as close to him as he could. She smiled against his lips, and when they broke apart for air, a tear trickled down her cheek.

“I didn’t think you’d find me. Or that you’d come back.”

He wiped the tear off her face with the pad of his thumb, then using that same finger to gently caress her lips. “If you think, for one moment, that I could’ve stayed away from you...” Here, his voice broke.

Merielle only nodded, burying her face into the side of his neck, planting small kisses there every so often. He held her tightly, rubbing circles into her back with a hand. He rested his head against hers, shifting ever so slightly to kiss her temples.

It occurred to him that the entire deck was staring at them, but he cared little for it. He only began to blush when warm smiles were sent his direction. Merielle peeled herself away, and, teasingly, kissed James hard on the mouth. There was a cheer from the crew, and James felt his face becoming exceedingly hot. Thankfully, when Merielle released him, she was similarly flushed.

“Where to next?” James asked, breathless.

“Well, now that we have that compass again,” here Merielle tapped the device hanging from James’ belt, “I have a promise to keep. It has to do with a certain sea goddess.” She winked.

Though he was confused, he had time to ask later. He kissed her again, and was gratified to hear the roar of the crowd. “Well,” he said huskily, “lead the way.”

Giggling, Merielle lead him to the helm, where he provided her with the compass. She popped it open and let the dial swivel to its place. She showed it to the helmsman. She then grabbed James’ hand, and together, they stared out towards the endless expanse of ocean before them.

She squeezed his hand three times.

He returned the gesture.


End file.
